Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time they met, Anakin was nine. Obi-Wan was fourteen, and standing on the head of a krayt dragon. Hands held out, teetering, laughing wildly while a few of the Naboo Queen’s handmaidens watched on, yelling with fright and concern. 

Anakin, who had been sniffling about leaving mom behind, and was trying very hard not to scrub sand into his nose, found his eyes widening in equal parts fear and awe. Beside him, Qui-Gon let out a heavy sigh, as if his apprentice’s frolicking with a hundred-foot monster was a mere recurring nuisance. 

“Obi-Wan.” He boomed, usually quiet voice raised in a warning tone. 

Both Obi-Wan and the krayt dragon stilled, which would have been funny if Anakin wasn’t so terrified of the open jaws of the dragon. 

“You were supposed to be watching the ship!”

“I know! And I was!” Obi-Wan yelled back, indignant. He gestured at the dragon, “she tried to eat the new hyperdrive, and I had to distract her while the pilots got it fixed up.” Obi-Wan then crouched down, gave the dragon’s horn a loving little pat. The beast let out a deafening roar that rained fist-sized globs of slobber around them, and then proceeded to gently lower Obi-Wan towards the ground.

“So is the hyperdrive fixed?” Qui-Gon’s hands went to his waist, once he no longer needed to crane his head into the sun to look at Obi-Wan. 

“Oh yes, we’ve been waiting for you for hours, Master.” 

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows, tilting his head as if reprimanding the Padawan for wasting time in frivolous play.

Obi-Wan looked chastened. He frowned and turned away. 

Only, the Sith chose that moment to appear on the horizon. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “Master, watch out!” 

Obi-Wan has been Qui-Gon’s Padawan for a year before his Master decided he had finally found the Padawan he was looking for.

And it wasn’t Obi-Wan, oh no.

“An apprentice you have, Qui-Gon.” Yoda said gently. Or maybe sternly. Not that Obi-Wan could tell. Qui-Gon always thought he was one, and Obi-Wan always felt he was the other.

Obi-Wan’s jaws tightened. He stared at the floor of the Council chamber. He could feel the boy— Skywalker’s— eyes boring into the side of his head, which only made him scowl. 

Anakin had this way of staring at him that nagged constantly at the back of his neck. He could tell how Anakin looked from his own rough linen shirts to Obi-Wan’s cream Padawan robes, from the fringe of his sandy mop that covered his eyes to Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid, threaded with a single blue bead, near the end. 

And, besides the obvious jealousy and intention to steal Obi-Wan’s entire life away from him, there was something else in Anakin’s fascination. He stared up at him like the way initiates cooed wide-eyed at their first kyber, which Obi-Wan suspected had to do with the krayt dragon incident. Which Obi-Wan had gotten a sound talking-to from Qui-Gon for, once they were safely in hyperspace on the way back to Coruscant. About refraining from recklessness, respecting local creatures, so on and so forth. He had a point, Obi-Wan conceded. He would have been distraught if the dragon was hurt in the altercation with that mysterious dark warrior. 

“Decide the boy’s fate now, we cannot.” Yoda spoke again, drawing Obi-Wan’s attention back to the present. “To Naboo, you must return. Investigate the identity of this warrior, you will.” 

Anakin looks at Obi-Wan like he hung the stars , Mace thought, watching his new Padawan run towards Obi-Wan, the poor boy caught and startled out of the middle of his katas. The training salle was mostly empty, Qui-Gon being one of its only occupants, standing to the side and looking on at his Padawan with a critical eye. 

Which had only grown harsher and more austere since Qui-Gon recovered from their debacle with the Sith. Obi-Wan, too, had become more quiet, withdrawn; some days you’d think he was scared of the ground he walked on. It was clear that Qui-Gon’s near brush with death— and what happened after— hung heavily on both of them. Both were wrought with guilt for failing the other, neither knew the other blamed solely themselves and themselves alone. The result? They could hardly look at one another, which was only worsened whenever Skywalker decided to stick to their side. 

Mace held back a deep sigh. 

He was glad, at least, that the two boys found company in each other. Skywalker was isolated enough by the circumstances that brought him to the temple; and with what happened, Kenobi too was kept at arm’s length by most. It was unfortunate and unkind, but that, too, Mace understood. 

Had Obi-Wan been a senior Padawan, the act would have been commendable. A sign of merit, courage, skill, something worth accolades and celebration. Even possibly considered to be his Great Trial, worthy of a Knight. 

But to have slain a Sith as a boy of fourteen. 

It should have been impossible. It couldn’t have been possible without having drawn upon the Force in ways usually inaccessible to the Jedi. And Obi-Wan, out of anyone. Obi-Wan, who was possibly too bent upon being good at his classes, and spent his time outside of class kicking his feet in the Gardens’ pond and talking to the fish; Mace wouldn’t have thought the boy capable of an ounce of darkness. But to have done what he did— Mace understood the implications, the temple understood the implications; and probably more than anyone Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon themselves. But not Skywalker. Skywalker looked at Kenobi like he hung the stars. 

On the other side of the room, Qui-Gon had suggested for them to go through the exercise together. Kenobi looked apprehensive, but Skywalker’s eyes lit up, his enthusiasm flushing the Force with a tidal wave of depthless static that nearly knocked Obi-Wan off balance. He looked nervously up at his Master, then returned to the interrupted katas but entirely unable to focus. His movements were wooden and stilted while Anakin imitated the shapes of his limbs with nearly comical unreliability. Obi-Wan looked distraught, eyes darting between his feet and the downturned lips of his Master. Even Anakin began frowning in confusion. 

Unable to bear watching any longer, Mace brought himself forward, cursing internally at the ridiculous state of things. 

“Master Windu!” Anakin perked up. “Sorry for running off, but Obi-Wan was just showing me the, um, the lightsaber routine.”

"Katas," Obi-Wan corrected gently, and turned stiffly for a timid bow at Mace. "fourth form, third iteration." His shields have slammed up, impressively strong for a Padawan of his age and recent experience. Mace looked up at Qui-Gon, and wanted to frown. He dearly hoped he was actually speaking to the boy, besides heaping expectations and reprimands to escape his own insecurities. Mace wasn't the boy's Master, but Qui-Gon wasn’t the one to find him waking up screaming from vision-filled nightmares in the medical wing. Qui-Gon had still been in a coma then. 

Qui-Gon bowed shallowly in greeting Mace. "I thought it would have been a good idea, for Obi-Wan to demonstrate and Anakin to follow."

Mace nodded his acknowledgement, and laid a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. (He was glad that, for all his initial apprehensiveness, Anakin had begun to trust him more.) “These katas are too advanced for you just yet, Padadwan.” 

Anakin pouted, the way he did whenever denied something beyond his apparent superpowers. 

Mace ignored the look on Qui-Gon’s face. "Padawan Skywalker, I want you to focus on observing Padawan Kenobi’s movements, his presence in the Force, while holding back your own presence the way I showed you. Remember, the self dissolves before it rearranges to emerge. Padawan Kenobi— you may proceed as you normally do.” And, upon a momentary stroke of inspiration, “you may use Anakin’s presence, if you can find it, as an anchor.” 

Under three expectant gazes, Obi-Wan nodded silently, and predictably settled into the beginning of the most basic form three iterations. Always convinced of his plainness, mediocrity, Mace thought wryly. He closed his eyes, and began to move. This time, Mace could tell exactly when he latched onto Anakin’s signature, and when Anakin held on in return, hurling himself around the lone candle flame of Obi-Wan, in the enormity of the Force’s nexus. Obi-Wan sank deeply into the Force, and his movements became smooth and flowing yet grounded, as if instructed by the Force itself. Skywalker’s untameable fire surged up to him, calmed by some deep well that swelled around them; and Kenobi, like water met with light, lit up with a hundred shades of brilliance dashed into its weighted air. 

The Force yielded to them, parted around them, ready to be wielded by its chosen child; while Kenobi became the willing vessel in which all that power submitted to be shaped. 

Anakin might be the Chosen One— in fact, given this display, it would be foolish to deny— but it seemed Obi-Wan was who he chose.

He shared a look with Qui-Gon, the other Jedi Master’s expression unreadable. Mace mentally prepared himself to expect much more of the man’s company in the future.

Skywalker and Kenobi. Kenobi and Skywalker. Already, they were never spoken apart from each other, bound by the myth-like fate that had fallen upon them. Ancient prophecies, ancient evils, messiah, paladin. Nobody quite knew what to do with either of them, and it seemed neither were making the matter any easier. 

Mace felt a headache brewing. 

Slowly, Kenobi drew himself back to the surface, following the kata to its conclusion. Anakin emerged as well, unscrunching his nose and blinking open his eyes. For some moments he looked a bit dazed, as if no longer used to ordinary reality, and then, he broke into a face-splitting grin.

“That was wizard!” he exclaimed, the noise of his presence in the Force regathering with his excitement, “Master Windu, did you see that? Did you see what Obi-Wan did?” 

Kenobi’s eyes went wide, he opened his mouth as if ready to deny that anything was his doing.

Mace raised a hand to preempt it. “Very well done, Padawan Kenobi.” and feeling like he’s had enough of this for a day, possibly a week, “Come, Padawan. Your reading lesson is starting soon.” 

He bowed his leave, and gestured at Anakin to follow. All too aware on his way out, of the way Kenobi’s eyes remained trained on Anakin.

Chapter Text

Anakin was twelve when he knew that he loved Obi-Wan. In fact, he’d always known he loved Obi-Wan, but by then he was certain there wasn’t anyone else he loved as much as Obi-Wan, nor would there ever again be. 

The thought came to him in the hushed dim of Obi-Wan’s empty room, the code for which he’d known since the first time he followed a thread through the Padawan dorms to find Obi-Wan after a nightmare. Or perhaps it was to keep Obi-Wan company after his nightmare, Anakin no longer remembered. But always, always, there were some things, some pieces of themselves that only the two of them knew. Not their friends, nor their Masters, and for as long as he’d known him they’ve kept those pieces safe for each other. 

Obi-Wan knew about the wild thing with wings that would go crazy against his chest, Obi-Wan knew about the chains. (Master Windu tried to speak to him, but he didn’t really know. Obi-Wan knew . Anakin didn’t know how he understood, but he did.) Obi-Wan knew what it was like to sink away, deep into the space between space, where you disappeared, where it felt like all the stars were roaring inside you— but it wasn’t so bad at all if Obi-Wan was there with him. 

There were his pale eyes, his boyish grin. The way he laughed and frowned and fell quiet. The way he sometimes squinted narrow-eyed like he’s speaking to a particularly pathetic life form. What a snob, Anakin thought, smirking to himself. Obi-Wan could fall into the core of a star and come out the other side holding a sword made of midi-chlorians, and still continue to scrunch his nose about the colour of his tea.

Anakin was on his second round dismantling the desktop chronometer, when the apartment door swept open, and Obi-Wan tumbled through. He looked dishevelled, a flush high on his cheek, and for once he was surprised that Anakin was there.

Usually, they were able to subconsciously track each other wherever the other went, even across the galaxy. It was the only thing that kept Anakin from sneaking into his and Master Qui-Gon’s ship whenever they got sent out to their next insane mission. 

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan breathed, self-consciously adjusting his robes. “Where’s— where’s Bant?” 

Anakin shrugged. “Isn’t she your roommate? I thought she’s on a night shift down at the medical wing.” 

“Oh, um, right.” 

“What happened to you?” Anakin frowned.

“Nothing!” 

“Who were you with?” 

Taken aback, Obi-Wan crossed his arms, “Quinlan Vos. You know him, don’t you?”

Oh, that load of bantha slobber. “What were you doing with him?”

“That’s none of your business.” 

Anakin tilted his head, suddenly concerned. “Obi-Wan, what’s that thing on your neck? Did something bite you?” 

“N-No?”

“Did Quinlan bite you? On the neck?” he gasped.

His eyes widened, alarmed. “Shh! Keep it down!” 

“He did ?” Anakin gawped. Still rooted to the spot by the door, Obi-Wan was flushing even more than before. “You’re funny.” Anakin decided, which was what Shmi always called ‘insane’. 

“Yes, well, if you don’t mind,” Obi-Wan cleared his throat, and crossed the room to ruffle in his drawers, like he was only here to look for something before returning to Quinlan again. He asked lightly over his shoulder, “Why are you here, Anakin, why aren’t you with your friends?” 

Anakin shrugged, though Obi-Wan had his back turned to him. There was a tiny prickle of sadness that poked at his third left rib which he wanted to ignore. He pulled Obi-Wan’s penknife out of his pocket with the Force, and flicked it open to pry at the casing of the chrono’s power unit, until it opened with a crack. 

Obi-Wan turned to him then. His movements slowed, previous impatience leaking out of him. “Anakin,” he began, hesitant. “You weren’t… waiting for me, were you?” 

Anakin glared down at the tiny power coupling. It sparked, as if in annoyance. 

“Oh, really, Anakin.” Obi-Wan scoffed softly, but as he shuffled on his feet, his expression turned sincere. “Do you… want me to stay?” 

At that second, Obi-Wan’s wrist comm beeped, and Obi-Wan winced. 

“Alright, hold on a second, you brute.” he whispered into it, “yeah, yeah, kriff you too.” and turning those blue eyes back to him, “Anakin?” 

“Whatever.” Anakin scowled. He wrenched too hard at the grav-magnet, which broke with a snap. “You can do whatever you want.” 

There was one, two beats, the chrono sputtered and died. Obi-Wan blinked.

“Awh, Anakin.” his tone turned teasing, “you missed me that much, huh, runt?” 

“I’m not a runt.” Anakin snapped. Obi-Wan was full-on grinning at him now, which Anakin was trying hard not to twitch his lips back at. 

“Okay, runt.” 

And then, without warning, he fell bodily onto Anakin, batting the quartered chronometer to the floor, and pinned down his legs to launch a full-on tickle attack. Anakin shrieked, tried to kick him off, pulling on Obi-Wan’s (much longer) Padawan braid. But he couldn’t help laughing, and Obi-Wan was laughing, and soon Anakin was red-faced and breathless. 

“What are you doing, babysitting?” came the muffled voice from the comlink.

Oh, Anakin knew there was a reason he hated Vos. 

Obi-Wan rolled off him, “Kriff off, Vos,” he spoke easily, “it’s not like I’m with you .” 

“Ha-hah, funny. So are you coming or not?”

“Eh… you know what, count me out tonight, I’m not really feeling it.” 

“Seriously? Well, your loss—”

“Give Garen my fondest regards,” Obi-Wan said exaggeratedly, then clicked off the comlink without waiting for a reply. Unstrapping it from his wrist, he tossed the comm to his bedside table, next to the soulless shell that had once been his chronometer. He snorted.

Anakin scooted up the bed, pushed up to Obi-Wan’s side against the headboard. “Admit it,” he turned up his nose, “I’m just better company than Vos .” 

“Well,” Obi-Wan slung an arm over Anakin’s shoulder, which he leaned back into, “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

There, that soft turn of his smile, crinkling in the corner of his eyes. It made Anakin beam toothily back. 

“Let’s go flying.” Anakin suggested, “who knows how long your next mission’s gonna be? We might not get to do this again any time soon.” 

“Yeah, uh,” Obi-Wan’s smile froze a little. “Maybe not flying, actually.” 

“What? But you used to love flying!”

“Have I ever enjoyed your kind of flying?” 

“What happened ?” Anakin poked him in the side, “Did you fly your ship into a space worm or something?” 

Obi-Wan chewed the inside of his cheeks. “Yes, something like that.” he shook his head, gathered himself. “You know what, since it’s late anyway, let’s stay in. Hang on, I think I’ve got some sweets from Pijal.” he rummaged in the bedside drawer, and dumped a handful of colourful packets on the bed. “Now, have you heard of the Codru-Ji Wyrwulves? Canine-humanoids. There have been records of them since the ancient Terran mythologies…”

Satisfied, Anakin snuggled himself in, only half-aware of the small smile that played on his lips as he gazed intently up at Obi-Wan, gesturing wildly, enthusiastically prattling away. 

Obi-Wan has been Qui-Gon’s Padawan for five years, and he has long since come to terms with the fact that he’ll never be enough. Well. Come to terms was a strong expression, but he has (begrudgingly) accepted (through gritted teeth) that he was never going to be the Padawan Qui-Gon wanted. 

One of these days he wondered if he was ever going to be enough for anyone. Satine certainly didn’t think so, and Qui-Gon neither. Such was made perfectly clear by the simmering silence they kept on the long, long ride through nothingness back to Coruscant. Really, if everyone disapproved of everything in the way he handled situations and made decisions, they could just say so , without letting him brew in the belief that he was afflicted with incurable flaws in character that made him worthless, as a person, as a Jedi, soul-deep inadequate . Obi-Wan deflated, once again remembering the heartbreaking way Satine looked at him, the gentle reproach, as she urged them back to their duties.

Enough, enough. 

They’ve been a year in Mandalore, it’s been a year since he was on Coruscant, on a world of peace. The sun was shining, Obi-Wan was turning nineteen. 

And Anakin was taller than him. 

By nary an inch, but still. Obi-Wan bristled at the smug grin on the boy’s face. 

Ridiculous, he’s not even lost all his baby fat. 

Having apparently developed some self restraint and manners, he didn’t launch at Obi-Wan the way he used to, but stopped two steps away from him, and stood his ground. 

“Hi.” Anakin said, almost timid. His voice cracked at the end, for which he cleared his throat abashedly. 

Huh, he also looked like he was missing one of his molars. 

“Hello, you.” Obi-Wan smiled back. Genuine, and only a little weary. Force, it’s like he’s become an old man.

Anakin tilted his head, and considered him carefully. Obi-Wan tried not to squirm thinking about how he must look. Exhausted, mildly malnourished, circles under his eyes. Yet to get a haircut. He self-consciously ran a hand through the fringe that spilled over his forehead, and Anakin hastily looked away. Obi-Wan had been shielding much of his distress from Anakin, over the past year, but he had no doubt Anakin still knew , the way he always did. And besides, there had been many a nights when Obi-Wan couldn’t help but reach for the comfort of that connection; easy, boundless, bright enough to drown out all other shadows. 

“So, is it real?” Anakin said eventually, with a lopsided smile, “The Mandalorian Mythosaur? Did you manage to get it to take you for a ride?” 

Obi-Wan huffed in surprise. Force , he missed Anakin, though he’s had him this whole time. In abstract , which was just not the same. 

“We didn’t actually spend all that long on Mandalore itself.” he replied, “Mostly the moons and other terrestrial objects. Since, you know, we were in hiding.” 

“Found nothing fun around?” 

Obi-Wan hummed distractedly. “Venomites, Pterosaurs of Ammuud, Shriek-Hawks. But mostly blasters and bombs. Which, of course, they had all sorts. You know the Mandalorians.”

Anakin continued to regard him quietly. Was he really away for that long, that Anakin grew up so much? 

There was a depth, a sudden gravity shining forth from the bright blue eyes that caught Obi-Wan off guard. It was as if— as if Anakin missed him as much as he missed Anakin. As if he’s been wanting Obi-Wan to be right here, all of him, exactly who he was, in the guileless and devastatingly heartening way a young person wanted. Obi-Wan’s heart clenched hard.

“Are you doing anything today?” Anakin asked him, “You could tell me about it, if you want.” 

Hapless with what to do about Anakin’s hopeful expression, Obi-Wan said, stupidly, “I did agree to meet Quinlan at Dex’s, actually.” 

Predictably, Anakin immediately scowled. 

Obi-Wan’s heart sank a little with guilt. In reality, Quinlan has been getting the earful about Satine whenever they had comm signal, and being the great friend he was, offered to ‘help take his mind off things’, in true Quinlan Vos fashion. “Would you… like to join us at Dex’s?” Obi-Wan added, hesitant. 

“Oh, no.” Anakin flushed scarlet, “no, no. I wouldn’t— I mean—” 

Oh, so he’s figured that out. 

“I don’t have to see him till later,” Obi-Wan decided then. “I’m all yours. Where do you want to take me?” 

“Well.” Anakin looked a bit off balance, then recovered himself, and flashed his brilliant smile like he’d been waiting for this moment. “You’ve been away, haven’t you, so we gotta get you caught up on things. There’s that horrid desert fruit I told you about, the one I dared you to try. We finally found it at some market down in the three hundredths. Oh and— Narglatch Airtech has an exhibition. For their new XJ-6 hot rods, I’ve been wanting to go…” 

“That all sounds good,” Obi-Wan found his chest warming at Anakin’s familiar ramble. Stars, his voice really is cracking so much. “But why are we heading into the temple?” 

“I thought we could visit the Gardens.” 

“The Gardens?” Obi-Wan was incredulous.

“Well… There’s this— giant venomous scorpion, that followed Plo Koon back to the temple from his mission. He’s been terrorising the Alderaanian squirrels, and everyone’s dead scared of him.” Anakin shot him a sideway look, “But I think you’ll be great friends.” 

Obi-Wan couldn’t hold back a snort. “Wouldn’t he be on the sandy side of the Gardens?” he teased.

“I’m coming prepared. I’ve got a plasti body suit and everything. I will go with you.” Anakin said, fully serious. At Obi-Wan’s raised eyebrow, Anakin conceded, “Okay, actually, Mace asked me to deal with him. But how could I have let you miss out on the fun?” 

(After a walk with a six-foot scorpion to the spaceport, a few traffic incidents and sweet-talking themselves away from Coruscant patrols, being dragged from one corner of the city to another— Obi-Wan found himself laughing. Next to Anakin, he felt a warmth light that flowed continuously into his chest alongside Anakin’s endless chatter. He found all that weariness peeling away, like it never should have been part of what he was. There was no curse of failure, of loneliness, of something cracked open and deeply wrong that he had to scramble and hide. Here, he was light. And like the Coruscant crowds that parted easily for them to thread through, the shadows couldn’t touch him.) 

(Perhaps he was exchanging one loneliness for another. But how could he be lonely, when he wasn’t ever alone?)

Did Mace know that his Padawan was possibly engaging in multiple illegal acts in the bowels of Coruscant? Yes. 

Should he do anything about the fact that the fourteen and eighteen year olds were most definitely without other guardians? Arguably. Anyone who knew him might well expect him to.

Was there any possible world where he could have done anything?

Mace let his head fall into his hands. 

“We were just returning the scorpion to his home,” Mace could already hear Anakin say, “like you asked me to!”

He pinched hard at the bridge of his nose. There was a lot to be said for how much Anakin had grown, in spite of what the rest of the council might think. He was becoming a capable Jedi, for sure a very skilled swordsman. Keeping his curiosity and righteous heart alive despite his friction with the Order and the lingering shadow of his past. His first major off-world mission had also come and gone, without much incident. Against all odds, he was flourishing. But the rest of the council had a point. 

There was a reason Mace feared (yes, feared, and he was unashamed to admit it) the day Anakin demanded to be taught Vaapad, a reason Anakin has been kept relatively sheltered in the temple, and Kenobi never officially paired with him for any mission. Every day was a constant battle between keeping Anakin aware of his powers, and keeping him from doing anything that hurt himself or anyone around him. 

He knew the decision to take on Anakin was not an idle one. It stirred the Force and shifted the future; he’d known it would be a precarious, difficult road. Mace still felt a deep rush of sympathy for whoever Anakin’s Master was, in another world. 

Anakin was only fourteen. And Kenobi at fourteen had done enough to be paying for it still. 

As they got older, it seemed Obi-Wan was trying ever harder to fold in on himself, making himself smaller, smoother, as if begging the rest of the temple to forget what he was at fourteen as an anomaly. His Master seemed to have his own way of containing his student, though Mace disagreed with his methods. (Diving headfirst into every active civil war? Really, Qui-Gon?) But it must have worked, because Obi-Wan slotted himself neatly amongst his peers, and seemed content to be just another Padawan of eighteen. Whenever the ‘Chosen One’ moniker was brought up in jest, it was never about Obi-Wan, even by association. As long as he and Anakin kept to themselves, he must have thought, everyone else was none the wiser. 

Anakin, however, was all but the opposite. He hadn’t the luxury to shy away from notoriety, but he wasn’t really trying, either. It depended on the day, whether he preened under or despised the attention. But there was one person whose attention he demanded unwaveringly. 

It’s been five years, Anakin was still trying to chase after Kenobi, wherever he went.

A knock on the door. Mace looked up, and his sudden musings about Kenobi found its source. 

“Master Jinn.” Mace nodded politely. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Qui-Gon sat himself down opposite Mace, hands tucked into his sleeves. “I have something to discuss with you. About our Padawans.” 

Which was as much as Mace expected. They never did get along outside of their mutual associations. Even when Dooku returned to the temple for visits, it was always to see Mace and Qui-Gon separately, never together. 

Presently, however, Mace suddenly realised Qui-Gon was not here to acknowledge their mutual decision to ignore the Padawans’ minor misdeeds, but something else entirely.

Qui-Gon, who was usually expert at hiding his intentions, was transparently caught in turmoil. 

“I had Obi-Wan scan the prophecy.” he said, and every alarm bell in Mace’s mind started screaming. Qui-Gon held Mace’s eyes. “Nowhere does it mention that the Chosen One must be a Jedi. Or indeed, a person.” 

Not a Jedi, Mace could understand. He’s had his own share of doubts whether Anakin’s was meant for the Order. But the latter. 

“Are you beginning to think Anakin isn’t the Chosen One, after all?” Mace asked, in spite of his apprehensions. “What do you think it is, if not a person?”

“Two persons.” Qui-Gon said, expression grave and unwavering. “I think it is them both.” 

Chapter Text

Anakin was eighteen when he confessed his love for Obi-Wan. They were standing under a narrow ledge to hide from Coruscant rain, eight hundred levels down. Out in the alleys of the club district, passing streetcars shining with rain. The flash of bright lights and muffled riotous crowds punctuated Anakin’s rapid heartbeat in his chest, as he stared expectantly at Obi-Wan. 

Who had promptly started to cry.

Anakin panicked. “What, Obi-Wan, what is it? What have I done?” 

“Why?” Obi-Wan said, which came out sounding like a whine for how choked up he was.

“I love you.” Anakin repeated, desperate. “Why what?”

“Why would you—” his voice dropped to a disbelieving whisper, “love me ?”

“Because—” All the hundred reasons rushed to the forefront of his mind, and got stuck in his throat. Because you’re brilliant, and smart, and the light of my life. Because you were there for me, held me close when no one else would. Because I watched you befriend a krayt dragon the first time I saw you, and I’d been in love ever since. Because— “Because!” he cried, like it was evident. And it was evident. How could Obi-Wan think it’s not? He was pretty sure Master Windu, hell, the entire temple knew just how besotted Anakin was. 

“Anakin you are— you are young, and talented, and attractive, you could—”

“You think I’m attractive?”

“—have anyone you wanted.” 

“But I don’t want just anyone. I want you.” 

Obi-Wan barked out a laugh, hysterical. Anakin knew they sounded like they were rehearsing exchanges out of some horrible holodrama, but all of it was true. And Obi-Wan was the one making it awful and dramatic instead of kissing Anakin already. Which he knew was a thing Obi-Wan had thought about doing. Hell, Anakin’s heard him talking about being willing to kiss Yoda on the mouth. Obi-Wan would kiss a rock, was Anakin the only lump of matter in the universe so repulsive? 

Obi-Wan ran a hand over his face. And then took Anakin by the shoulders. Stared earnestly into his eyes. “You really mean it?” 

A high nose escaped Anakin’s throat. He could have loved anyone, and he had to love the only person who thought he didn’t want to be loved. “Obi-Wan. Please, if you hate me so much just say—”

“Kriff, Anakin. No . I just—” 

And then finally, finally, Obi-Wan kissed him.

Obi-Wan has been Qui-Gon’s apprentice for eleven years, Anakin Mace’s apprentice for ten, when Anakin was knighted. At nineteen. 

His great trial, according to Mace’s speech at his ceremony, was this mission to Naboo and then Tatooine. Anakin has shown remarkable restraint and circumspection, mindfulness of his duty in spite of temptations. Sensitivity to the Force’s suggestions and warnings, commitment to protecting the settlers, the slaves and their uprising even at risk of great personal loss. It was, in all, a commendable testament to his ingenuity and integrity, a witness of all the best values of the Jedi. 

“Rise, Knight Skywalker.” Mace Windu pronounced, an undeniable silver of pride in his eyes, as Anakin stood to accept in both hands the long braid that had marked his growth, his becoming of the last ten years. 

There was polite applause; Yoda had smiled. Anakin looked so carefully pleased, a little dazed, a little lost, as he took in pats on the shoulder and well-wishing congratulations. 

“Congratulations.” Obi-Wan walked up and said to him, sincerely. For a moment, both their eyes slipped to the Padawan braid that still rested at Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Anakin’s eyes fell to the floor. “Thank you.” he murmured. And in a flash, anything but affection for Anakin vanished from Obi-Wan’s chest. To think, he was nearly sick with worry that he’d be too jealous to be here for Anakin.

Obi-Wan knew about Anakin’s misgivings, the uncertainties he held about himself. How he felt, deep, deep in his heart how close everything came to be completely different from the way it turned out. It suddenly struck him, how thin the line was, how easily what’s seen as our achievements could have been our downfall. 

“It felt like I was being swallowed up,” Anakin had confessed to him, and Obi-Wan’s heart clenched because he knew, he knew exactly what that felt like. “Like I couldn’t breathe, like the world was on fire and if I didn’t keep it going I’d be torn to shreds.”

“My mother might have died, and I wasn’t there to save her. I know she said, she told me to go but I just, I was so scared.” the words came stuttering out, insufficient for the enormity that Obi-Wan felt from him in the Force. The way his voice shook, forced out between swallows told him more than anything else. “And everything was happening, it was— so much. And then…”

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan wanted to lean in, pull the hunched shoulders to his chest and hold him there, but Anakin remained stubbornly still. Instead, he took both his hands, grounding himself with the simple contact, smoothing his thumb over Anakin’s knuckles. 

“And then I heard you.” Anakin looked up, bright gaze startling, “You called for me, consciously or not, I don’t know. But you felt that I was slipping and you caught me.” 

Obi-Wan’s throat closed up. He was not worthy of Anakin, he could not be. It was all you, he wanted to say. It was Anakin who dared to venture into his past and was brave enough to rewrite the story. Anakin who faced the dark pit and loss and did not let himself drown in fear, in anger, coming out the other side a better Jedi and a better man. Obi-Wan was so, so proud of him, except was it even his place to be proud? When Obi-Wan was the one who’d failed this exact test, ten years ago, threatened with the loss of his Master who barely wanted him. When Obi-Wan had left Anakin alone, half a galaxy away. This wasn’t the first solo mission Master Windu had sent Anakin on, but it was the first that Anakin had asked Obi-Wan to accompany him in. And Obi-Wan had refused, not willing to return to Naboo any more than Anakin had wanted to go back to Tatooine, still so haunted by what had transpired a decade ago. 

Unable to watch Anakin any longer, Obi-Wan lowered his head. He sighed shakily, breaking into a watery chuckle. 

Here he was, twenty-four and still so far from standing in his own right, from believing in his own reality. And Anakin, brash, bold, and brilliant Anakin, who threw the whole of his heart into everything he did. The unfathomable soul, who saw right through Obi-Wan’s and somehow still wanted him here. Still wanted him. 

“Well… Knight Skywalker.” Obi-Wan’s hand went up. He brushed a thumb past the shell of Anakin’s ear, the uneven tuft of hair where his braid used to be.

Anakin matched his tone, looked up now, a glint in his eyes. 

“What will it be, Obi-Wan, are you keeping the promise and taking me to that bar?” 

Obi-Wan snorted. The promise was, of course, that Obi-Wan would take Anakin along after his knighting, as a knight himself. “I’m afraid you’d be the one escorting me, in this case.” 

“Still sounds good to me.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the amused smile. Anakin’s expression was set in the way he got when squaring himself up for something. The slightest pout and drawn brows, he stared at Obi-Wan like he’s trying to burn a hole through his skull. A club was never Anakin’s scene, even less so the kind Obi-Wan had been teasing him about. He never did like when Obi-Wan sneaked off to them either, especially since— since everything and nothing between them have changed. 

He sometimes felt guilty— scratch that, he always felt guilty— when he didn’t stop seeing others besides Anakin; but Obi-Wan was the one terrified of throwing the whole of himself into something. Bant called him self-destructive, Quinlan accused him of a death wish, the way he passed his body around while Anakin silently watched, waited, and glared.

But the alternative was a confession, which Anakin looked like he understood beyond what Obi-Wan could ever admit to himself. Truth was, he wanted like he’s never wanted anything else in his life; but to look Anakin in the eye and demand him to offer himself? It was something neither of them could do. 

And eventually, Anakin would look away. He was long due to look away from Obi-Wan, the mission and his knighting only proved it. Anakin held the light of the universe, not just for Obi-Wan. The Chosen One, the prophecy’s child, likely the youngest knight in recent history— he was destined to flourish, to go on to things and places beyond their wildest imagination. And that was a place where Obi-Wan wouldn't be. Perhaps he’ll still be a Padawan then, watching with unspeakable wistfulness as Anakin soared. 

This wasn’t to cheapen Anakin’s affection, his devotion to him. But Obi-Wan was another hurdle he’s meant to overcome, on his long, long journey. So, Obi-Wan thought, better wrench out his heart while he still could. Hide his ardent words behind a wall of dry sarcasm and petty wit, turn away to others like it wasn’t all he wanted to fall at Anakin’s feet. 

Anakin had a life way, way beyond him. Obi-Wan was sure. 

Kenobi was twenty five when he discovered the galaxy pregnant with two armies. Anakin was twenty when he lost an arm. 

Mace Windu was not old enough to be unaffected, in discovering his old friend has become a Sith. Yet, he felt way too old, in the face of a galaxy about to erupt into war. The Force wailed with the sudden loss of so many Jedi on Geonosis, as a millennium of peace was so abruptly ruptured. 

Or perhaps, peace had always been only an illusion. 

When he knighted Anakin less than a year ago, he truly believed Anakin ready to confront the world in his own right. He was precariously young, but not incapable or untested. Only, none of them thought he would be thrust into the war, much less its very forefront. 

The first Kenobi and Skywalker were sent on a joint mission, it was because the Council found out about their bond, were curious, and wanted to test its strength. It was a few years into Anakin’s life at the temple, and they suggested something small, uncomplicated, local on Coruscant to avoid too much flying by the most reckless pilot in the galaxy. Mace argued against it, but the rest of the Council thought it harmless.

The two of them returned to the temple smelling like the depths of Coruscant’s radioactive garbage chutes and rotting alien flesh. Obi-Wan sporting a singed and crippled pair of massive mechanical wings, and Anakin a head wound. 

Nobody suggested pairing the two of them again. 

Until the war, that was.

The two of them took to war like fish to water. Everyone watched, and everyone saw the way the battlefield levelled beneath their twin blue blades. The Council exchanged apprehensive glances, none of them quite knowing what to do with the way these two young men evolved into themselves— or were made something else— by a cruelty that had suddenly become commonplace. 

“I suppose you consider us reckless, Masters.” Obi-Wan had uttered, standing as if on trial in the middle of the council room, head down, deferent, but tall in dignity. “Heartless, having lost sight of our deepest values in the heat of the moment, amongst which our respect for orders.” 

Anakin stood beside him, unwavering in their united front, be it shielding their battalions from blaster fire, or defending the decision to abandon an outpost the Chancellor had specifically ordered them to defend.

“I assure you, Masters, that none of us are taking war lightly, nor the loss and suffering we’ve already incurred. But grief should not blind us to action, and I understand that it is our place to face the war, do what needs to be done.” 

Obi-Wan had always spoken with maturity, a gravity and stoicity which his ridiculously young face and the Padawan braid on his shoulder belied. Anakin wasn’t even watching the Councilors anymore. Instead, he had his eyes pinned to the side of Obi-Wan’s head from where he stood, half a step behind, even though he was the Knight of the two. 

Déjà vu, Mace decided, was a horribly distracting thing. 

“This doesn’t imply that we mean to never question what could have been done otherwise.” Obi-Wan continued, “Indeed, I believe as many of us still do, that there must have been another way than war. But that is not a point for someone like me to linger on. I have no place in questions deeper and greater than my inadequate vision allows to clearly see. Those, I can only defer to you, to the Council. As for us, the best we can do is adhere to our mandate, our duty to protect life, as much as we still can.”

Did he really not know, Mace wondered, did he really so firmly believe himself an unremarkable player in the coming fate of their galaxy? Did he really think it was Anakin alone, or Force forbid, the Council that held the key to containing the shattering future? 

They never did tell Obi-Wan, about what Qui-Gon believed to have found out. It sometimes kept Mace awake, wondering if they should have. Because in spite of all his scepticism about Qui-Gon’s whimsy, this was one thing Mace no longer doubted. Had he not understood this, he would have thought very differently of how Anakin and Obi-Wan clung to one another. The way they, in spite of all subtle deterrence, gravitated back, grew into each other. Inevitable as two circling stars orbiting, falling, accelerating towards the same centre. 

At the point of collision, will be the decision of all their fate.

The Force rang with a powerful kind of resignation. Mace listened, and closed this eyes. This was out of their hands. This was bigger than the Council, the Order, or the Republic. Once Mace would have believed the Republic the whole of civilization, without which the Jedi would be nothing. But if there was one thing Anakin taught him, it was that life, and the Force did not end at the boundary of Coruscant’s reach. Even he, who would have fought tooth and nail against simply yielding to fate, to the unpredictable, outrageously arbitrary tide of time, had to concede. The future was gathering, beyond where any of them could see.

And exactly contrary to what Obi-Wan assumed, it was to him, and Anakin, that everyone would one day have to look to. 

Chapter Text

Do you ever wonder, Anakin asked, what we would have been if not Jedi? 

If they didn’t find us, if we weren’t sent here? Would I have known you? Would we still be recognisable? Would we still be us? 

Do you ever wonder, Obi-Wan?

In front of them, a cascade of brilliant, lonely green hills, shining in fresh rain. Heavily mined, hiding a separatist base somewhere between its supple folds. Behind them, their marching troops and tanks churned the brittle grass to mud. 

Only all the time. Obi-Wan thought in response, painfully honest and no longer trying to hide it. Scraps of thoughts, flying by almost too quickly for Anakin to hear— Melidaan. Mandalore. Always thinking of running away. Leaving it all behind. Always returning, in the end, to you. I could have lost faith in everything, Anakin, but never you.

I don’t think I’d be who I am, if I hadn’t known you.

Anakin was twenty years old, when they gave him a Padawan. Some months into the war, some months since side-eyes and whispers of the prophecy began to follow him again wherever he went— they dropped a Padawan into his hands. 

One more test for the Chosen One? Why the kriff not. It’s like they thought he needed something to distract him from constantly thinking about ways to violently end the war on his own terms. And there was no doubt that Ahsoka, the feisty little gremlin, was a test, because Anakin was, he was— tested. 

And Obi-Wan was laughing at him. 

“Ahsoka Tano? You’re the one with a reputation, aren’t you?” Anakin frowned, when the fourteen year old girl showed up uninvited in the middle of a battle announcing herself his Padawan. 

(And Mace allowed this? Has he so quickly gone insane without Anakin’s keeping him in check?)

“A reputation? Rich of you to say.” Ahsoka promptly turned her nose up. “Maybe that’s why I’m assigned to you, then.” 

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” He glanced at Obi-Wan, who was hiding his mouth behind his hand. The traitor . “No, I mean it. You’re the one they said kept sneaking out of the temple.” 

“Oh, this one’s a runner.” Obi-Wan grinned, throwing a wink at Ahsoka. “But it’s not so much sneaking if everyone knows about it, is it? Don’t worry, your Master will teach you all the proper ways of getting caught.” 

Anakin, just about to cry out in thanks for his best friend rallying to his support, let out an undignified yelp alongside his Padawan . Force. 

Their constant bickering aside, Anakin almost immediately began to care deeply for her, surprising even himself. It’s just, Ahsoka was so young, brash and desperate to prove herself. Swinging wildly between bull headed confidence and timidly watching Anakin for every smallest sign of approval or disapproval. She cared so damn much, clinging onto his every word but somehow never listening to a thing he said. And he could not stress this enough: she showed up in the middle of an active battle. Anakin was terrified. How could he lead her into firefight before she was anything less than perfect with a sabre, before she could bat away blaster shots blind folded and in her sleep like the way he and Obi-Wan had to? Anything less would be costing them the lives of the clones, of her life. Not to mention the way she followed him everywhere, studying his every move— it was unnerving— and even more than with the clones he was supposed to be responsible and a role model. 

And Obi-Wan was laughing at him. 

“I wasn’t ever this bad, was I?” Anakin muttered. To be fair, most of the time she felt less like his Padawan learner than a little sister, especially when Obi-Wan was also around. But it still caught up to him. 

“Oh no,” Obi-Wan replied, sounding exceedingly smug. His eyes, too, shone with a vindicated glint. “You were so much worse, Anakin.” 

“Yeah, but you weren’t my Master.” Anakin crossed his arms, “It’s not like I was following you around everywhere.” 

Are you sure about that, said Obi-Wan’s one eyebrow arched in amusement. He deliberately pushed his Padawan braid behind his ear, “of course not, Master Skywalker, ” he said, and Force did it do things to Anakin’s stomach, he almost forgot Obi-Wan was still teasing him. “Would you like to call up Master Windu and ask him to verify that claim?” 

Obi-Wan could be such an ass sometimes. 

Despite it all, Anakin couldn’t hide that he was glad Obi-Wan was here. He was sent out with Anakin and Ahsoka often enough, but more frequently he was with Qui-Gon and the 212th. But when he was able to, everything was easier with Obi-Wan around. It was a little easier to breathe, the Force a little kinder, Anakin felt a little steadier on his feet. A bit more assured, a bit less like he was failing everyone and his Padawan. The despair eating him alive could be pushed back, the thing that always wanted to scream quietened. 

The war churned on and changed them both. Weighed down, countenance turned grave, Anakin could barely remember the last time either of them laughed. Obi-Wan, ever loyal to his Master, seemed to have taken the brunt of the pressure that came from seeing a Jedi of his lineage turned Sith. He spoke of Qui-Gon's despair, in a way that made Anakin sick with worry. There was nothing as unbalancing, as finding out that the man who taught you everything you know was rotten to the core. It wasn’t often that Obi-Wan was willing to leave General Qui-Gon’s side, Anakin was probably one of the only exceptions. 

But they belonged by each other’s side, Anakin was certain. If anything made the bone-deep exhaustion of war a little more bearable, it was watching the whirlwind of Obi-Wan’s figure cutting through battlefields, Anakin and Ahsoka never more than a few steps in front or behind. He had an instant rapport with Ahsoka too, which made Anakin both jealous and relieved. He stepped so gracefully into the role of a mentor despite the Padawan braid he still wore, sometimes it seemed he was as much Ahsoka’s Master as Anakin was. 

And now, Anakin was twenty one. They were marching in step across the grassy hills of Lothal, Obi-Wan quietly conversing with Ahsoka while Anakin reviewed the plans with Rex. Another impending battle, another move in a war no one could see the end of. Another danger, another mission they could not fail. Another bet paid with blood that they had to place— and then, before he could suffocate himself, Obi-Wan’s presence in his mind, soothing, bolstering, catching him right where he was. 

It’s fine, it’s fine, we’ll be alright, Anakin thought, Obi-Wan is here, and everything will be alright.  

Obi-Wan has been Qui-Gon’s apprentice for thirteen years. Correction: Obi-Wan had been Qui-Gon’s apprentice for thirteen years, until Qui-Gon fell from a Sith’s blade taken straight to the heart. 

Dooku didn’t linger. He fled before Obi-Wan could betray himself to avenge his Master. This time, Obi-Wan couldn’t save him either. 

“Master,” Obi-Wan fell to his side, took his paling face in both his hands, “Master.” 

A hand came up, brushed down Obi-Wan’s cheek. Then, with the last of his breath, “Obi-Wan,” he said, “You are the chosen one.” 

Obi-Wan’s rupturing world froze on its axis. Qui-Gon’s eyes were bright, and calm, even as life slipped out of them.

“You will bring balance. Help him.” 

Obi-Wan was twenty six years old. Obi-Wan felt eternity enter his veins. He couldn’t comprehend anything at all, only knew that he was crying, forehead pressed to Qui-Gon’s, his tears dripping onto the dead man’s face, until there was an instant where there was nothing. The body disappeared, and he held only air. 

Overnight, he became an orphaned Padawan, then a Knight, a General, the head of some thousands of clones, and master to a Padawan. Technically, the Padawan was Anakin’s, but Ahsoka certainly wasted no time in starting to call him “Master Obi-Wan”. (He was grateful. There was otherwise nothing hearty about his knighting.) 

“In spite of the circumstances that brought this about,” Mace Windu said to him, at his quiet ceremony before Qui-Gon’s funeral, “I am honoured to be the one bestowing this recognition in your Master’s stead, which you’ve deserved for a long time, Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan couldn’t meet his eyes. Didn’t want to see if there was only pity instead of the pride that sparked at Anakin’s ceremony. “I would have you knighted for what you accomplished at fourteen, had you been older.” Windu told him, but all Obi-Wan could think about was how Qui-Gon died before he ever saw Obi-Wan knighted. How many times had he dreamt of rising onto his feet in front of Qui-Gon, finally an equal. Watch happiness suffuse into his features when Obi-Wan pressed the braid into his hand. Instead, there was nothing left but the robes he died in, folded neatly on the unlit pyre below the coil of his braid. And Obi-Wan was shaking, trying not to imagine tucking the tawny braid into cold, limp fingers. 

The fire went up, sparks spraying into the night, and Obi-Wan had wanted to toss the rest of himself into the flames, or perhaps he’ll leave too, fly away with the sparks or turn to ash. This was a goodbye he’d spend the rest of his life saying.

“Qui-Gon loved you deeply,” Mace had said, and Obi-Wan flinched hard. “With Dooku’s betrayal, he felt the need for something to hold on to. He needed a tether, to the Jedi and to the light. You were his tether, Obi-Wan.”

Light? Obi-Wan thought dazedly, him? “But I—” 

“I understand.” Mace interrupted. Obi-Wan looked up in surprise, and what he saw was something he perhaps needed more than pride. This was the man who conquered the dark, for whom it wasn’t an abyss, but merely another fact of the world, of the Force. And in his eyes, deep, genuine respect.

“Light is a choice. It doesn’t always come easily, isn't always an instinct. Neither is love. But it’s often for those of us who never had to love for whom love is strongest. You have chosen light, Obi-Wan, as you have chosen to love, more fiercely than any Jedi I know.” He said, quiet and sober, “You were never the one who wasn’t ready.” 

Obi-Wan was speechless.

Has he been ready? Surely he couldn’t be, when now it seemed he’s been the one who’s looked at everything, everything the wrong way around. And with Qui-Gon gone, how was Obi-Wan ever to know? 

Chosen to love.  

For not the first time, Obi-Wan wondered as he watched Windu’s back retreat away, how much he really knew. 

Another voice came to him. 

Obi-Wan. 

It was Anakin, calling out in his mind. 

He’s not spoken to Anakin yet. He’s barely spoken a word to anyone besides the mission report. There was a seal in his throat he couldn’t get past.

Obi-Wan, he called again. 

You are the chosen one. Obi-Wan thought, unbidden. Those words, the only thing Qui-Gon left him. Those damn words. Help him.  

You are the chosen one. You will bring balance. Anakin was there by his side, a hand on his shoulder. Startling himself, Obi-Wan turned abruptly. And fell right into Anakin’s eyes. 

“Anakin,” he gasped, out loud. The young man immediately took him in, arms wrapping tight, so tightly around him, tighter than the coil that strangled his chest and lodged in his throat. Obi-Wan held back just as fiercely, and there they remained, for long, long moments. No words passed between them. Words were feeble things, compared to how their limbs, their soul, merged into one. 

You are the chosen one.  

Anakin was twenty two when it felt like he lost everything. Within a few weeks of Ahsoka’s walking away, there was a tremor in the Force, a voice calling out. 

His mother’s last words were to tell him that she loved him. Anakin heard them long before the message from Cliegg Lars arrived at Coruscant. 

(This was about when Palpatine grew close to him. He approached Anakin in the aftermath of Ahsoka’s trial, offering such cloying empathy, and patronising, near mean-spirited, useless words that Anakin usually wouldn’t have cared for. But he was so angry and lonely, and he was avoiding the ten missed calls from Master Windu, and Obi-Wan was off-planet (He was always off-planet these days— returned in time to see Ahsoka leave and to give Anakin the sad eyes before he was despatched again), that Anakin gave in, let Palpatine worm into the empty spaces in him collapsing with grief. He gave in to the Chancellor’s goading, gave in to anger, let it shown like he never had before. No one had seen him like this, he realised in terror, not even Obi-Wan— and no one else ever should.)

Anakin was twenty two, and they just told him that Obi-Wan had been captured. 

They haven’t heard from him for a month. 

If anyone had seen Anakin from that point in the war, they would have said that it was as if he had gone mad. Anakin felt mad himself. His signature turbulent, his shielding a wreck; his eyes were so constantly bloodshot the red rimmed his iris, he barely slept, stared intensely into space for hours at a time, searching for a scrap of an echo of his link with Obi-Wan which had gone dark about the time they lost Qui-Gon. Time bent and melted and everything else faded to static. And yet, during all this time, Anakin was aware of one thing with astounding clarity. 

That Palpatine was right. He had never been much of a Jedi. 

He would offer up hundreds, no, thousands of lives just to salvage Obi-Wan’s one. 

When he finally carved a path of blood to Obi-Wan’s feet, when he got to unbound him and let the limp frame fall into his arms— he saw it as undeniably as ever. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan blinked up. He was unbelievably battered, and clearly fighting to stay conscious. The way Anakin held him must have been pressing against wounds, but he was too tired, too relieved to do anything about it. Instead, with the last of his effort, dragged up his good arm to caress Anakin’s cheek. “Promise me,” he murmured, “dear one. Don’t lose yourself for me.” 

His hand fell, and his eyes closed. Anakin’s soul roared in panic before he noticed Obi-Wan was still breathing. Gasping, he cradled Obi-Wan’s head further into his chest. 

“I already have, Obi-Wan.” Anakin whispered, a single tear tracking down his cheek, “I already have.” 

Obi-Wan was twenty seven. And alive. 

Which meant not dead.

Which would come as a surprise to some. Especially to his body, which was complaining vehemently and constantly that it was still subject to awareness. One of the women they ended up rescuing from the village was helping him change the dressing on (only) his arms, and Obi-Wan was sure it’s physically impossible to be any more in pain. 

Kriff, this was probably a more convincing argument for the chosen one business than anything else, because the only reason he could think of for not being dead was that the Force wasn’t going to let him, before the whole bringing-balance thing was settled. (Frankly, after all this time, he’s still not sure he understood what Qui-Gon meant. The prophecy clearly said chosen one, not chosen two . So what was up with that?)

Oh, and Anakin, of course. Anakin was the reason he was alive. Anakin would and did drop everything— including himself— to save him. 

At the thought, something like lightning zapped through him. Kriff, what was it he said, about it being inconceivable that he could be in even more pain? 

The woman paused in her motion, and peered up at him. She had wise, aged eyes, dark and knowing in a way that made Obi-Wan feel stripped bare. Suddenly, he remembered that she’d introduced herself as the village seer. 

“I thought they told you to not use the Force.” the seer said, wryly. 

“Sorry.” Obi-Wan bit through his teeth. “I didn’t mean to.” 

She let out a light snort, and silently finished up on his arm, before she unrolled his clenched fist with both her hands. 

She smoothed out his palm— which, despite being etched with nail marks, had no other injuries— and studied it closely. The messy criss cross of lines he’d always carried, quite a bit denser than the average human, was suddenly making Obi-Wan rather self-conscious.

“A worrier,” she pronounced, finally, “aren’t you?”

“Well.” Being a general of the army, he’d have thought that much was a given. 

For long moments she kept staring at his hand, occasionally tracing the lines, brushing the callouses. Then, she looked from his hand to his face and back again, a queer expression growing into her lips. 

Obi-Wan regarded her silently, caught between feeling ridiculous and hapless.

She looked him in the eye. 

“You will love him, until the end.” 

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s heart skipped a beat, and sank. He lowered his head, turning away. “That’s what I feared.” 

Anakin was twenty three, and the storm was about to let loose. It has been rising since the day he was born, and in the past months has grown to engulf the horizon. Every minute he was inching closer and closer to the ledge. 

“Obi-Wan is planning to let himself die.” 

Across the office table, Palpatine went still. Anakin’s head was lowered, and he didn’t catch the Sith’s malicious smile spreading. 

“Is that so?” Palpatine sounded shocked, “how do you know this?”

Anakin swallowed. “I just do.” 

He’s been hearing it, feeling it in their bond. The conviction has been echoing in Obi-Wan’s subconscious for months and months. 

Palpatine had risen to pace around his office. Anakin stood and followed him. 

“I’ve always known you were special, my boy. As is your connection to Master Kenobi.” There was something mocking in the way he said ‘Master’. Before Anakin could frown and put a word to it, however, Palpatine had turned to him. “Have you heard of a Force Dyad?” 

Obi-Wan was twenty eight, and threw down the gun with which he’d shot Grievous, now laying as a pile of organic ash and scraps. With Anakin’s defeating Dooku, the Separatist forces were now essentially beaten. 

However, under the quiet of Utapau’s pale green sky, surrounded by his own men, Obi-Wan felt no relief. As though the real fight hadn't even started. 

Just as he took his lightsaber back from Cody, he heard a voice. A snarling, vicious voice unlike anything he’s heard. It wasn’t Anakin, it could not be Anakin— and then he realised, he was hearing what Anakin was hearing.

“—foolish boy, he is weak, unambitious, docile. He is holding you back. You are destined to be greater than all of this, my boy, and I alone can show you how.” 

No.

“—the Dyad. Only with the power of the dark side can you harvest its full power.” 

The Dyad— the bond. Their bond, where two became one, and neither was ever distinct. Obi-Wan instantly understood. He never knew it had a name. But the way it’s spoken of—

“Like you said, Anakin, he is going to leave. He will never choose you. You will lose him if you don’t force him to stay—”

No, no. 

What was happening, who was speaking to Anakin? Where was he, when his one mission was to track the Chancellor—

The Chancellor. 

The Sith.

Don’t listen to him.

But Anakin knew no other way. His lightsaber was pointed towards the Chancellor but his hand was shaking. He had to listen to him, he was going to lose Obi-Wan if he didn’t listen. And Anakin couldn’t lose him, he wouldn’t be who he was without him. He needed him like air, and Palpatine was the only one who knew how to keep the air in his lungs.

Don’t listen to him, Anakin!  

Was the thought his? Or did it come from somewhere else? Anakin didn’t know, and couldn’t imagine how he’d know. There were already too many voices in his mind, warring. All he knew was that Palpatine was still talking, promising that Obi-Wan could be tied to him, kept with him, that he’ll never be leaving Anakin again, never throwing himself out to be tortured or killed. Obi-Wan would be his and his alone, until the end. Except, except— Palpatine was a Sith, but could Anakin strike him down?

Anakin, come to your senses!

Lightning struck. The storm broke. With a loud cry, Anakin threw himself towards Palpatine. 

Anger burned. Desperate with regret. Obi-Wan was reeling. How dare the Sith touch Anakin, reap him at his most vulnerable. How dare he insult their bond.

The Sith was wrong about everything. About Obi-Wan, about Anakin. He knew nothing of what they were, what they could be. What they should have been, had Obi-Wan chosen any sooner. 

There was a time, when Obi-Wan was young— younger than he ought to remember— that he suddenly fell sick. A ravaging fever shook his small frame, only to miraculously recede completely two days later. His routine scans came up completely healthy, except his midi-chlorians have disappeared. Quite literally, the blood test came back with a midi-chlorian count of “undetectable”, no matter how many re-tests they ran. The healers had been exasperated, but ultimately not too worried, given his apparent Force sensitivity had not changed. For years, they made up numbers for Obi-Wan’s medical profile, the same kind of estimations based on abilities that they used for species where the blood test was inaccurate or dangerous. But Obi-Wan still knew, that somewhere inside, he was empty, a gap in the Force. 

He must have been about five— the age difference between him and Anakin. 

Only now had he understood. 

Across the galaxy, a loud snap sounded in the Force. A torrent poured forth, flooding his senses. He stood at the bottom of the seabed, the water rushing away from him, thrashing, arching tall overhead. And into the gap came breaths of fire, lunged across the galaxy to greet him. At their union, a vortex was swirling ever higher, streaked with red-hot embers, impenetrable, shielding them from the hail and flames that rained from above. 

At its centre, emerging from the calm, was Obi-Wan and Anakin. 

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, lightsaber firmly in hand. And Anakin was right there in front of him.

“We are one, Anakin.” Obi-Wan murmured. “We have always been one.” 

A second blue blade ignited in the room. Luminescent, in the darkened gloom of the chamber.

Sidious snarled. “Kenobi.” 

A pair of eyes, glowing like headlights and bright as the blue sabre, blinked and hardened. The form charged forward. 

Sidious never understood the Dyad. In fact, he was incapable of understanding it as other than control, possession, corruption. Therefore, he had also sorely underestimated it. 

They moved as one, light and dark flowed through them, unremarkable as the surface change of night and day was unremarkable to a planet’s core. Anakin’s anger, and Obi-Wan’s fear might have burned like a solar flare, but it was no more than a feeble splash to the heart of a dying star. The Force itself was enacting this revenge, under its power they were subsumed. It was a power that no being could possess. Possessing it would only limit it, make it weaker. But together, they transcend themselves, and each other. They were incandescent, the flight of their lightsabers only a carrier for the contest of raw power that played itself out. 

Rather quaint, wasn’t it, that the Force would have chosen two people who otherwise never wanted to keep, and harvest that power. Whatever strength they wanted, they wanted it for the sake of the other. To save, to protect. But there came a moment when they realised what was never needed. All they had to do was to come together as one. 

Sidious’ body hit the ground. Shrivelled, pale, mutilated and deformed by his own corruption, but that of a mortal man. 

Obi-Wan took one final stab at the Sith’s chest, lodged the blade inside his body, dragged it up along his spine and cut through his skull, as if afraid he wouldn’t stay dead. With that, he withdrew his sabre, panting as he powered it down, straightening as if into the form-perfect final pose of a kata. 

Lightsaber back on his belt, Obi-Wan turned his head towards Anakin.

Their eyes met. 

And held, for an eternity. They were blinking at each other, like newborns at the fantastical world they suddenly found themselves in. All was light, and all was bright. 

What did one do, after the survival of a storm? A storm that swept so much away, Anakin didn’t know what would be left. 

Obi-Wan reached out a hand to call for his discarded robe, but it didn’t come. He frowned, concentrated, again to no avail. 

Anakin tried too, to push over a statue on the other side of the room, but all he’s met with was stillness, and the silliness of holding a hand out as if in an aborted wave. It wasn’t as though he’s lost the Force. It wasn’t any dimmer, while in fact all around him was a starburst of brilliance. The Force was singing, as it streamed through the room, the planet, the galaxy. Yet, Anakin was aware of the strange calm, and distance from the rest of the Force. 

He stared down at his hands. It tingled at his fingertips; the servos in his right gently humming. He found that he liked it.

I love you.  

Like a clap of thunder, Obi-Wan’s declaration sounded in his chest. Shot of thrill through his veins— Anakin had never felt happiness so intense. Obi-Wan’s eyes, blue as the Tatooine sky the first time they met, as the galaxy’s brightest stars, had room for Anakin alone. 

As one, they were striding, rushing towards each other. They met each other in the middle. 

I know.  

At the top of the Temple’s turret, Mace Windu stood against the Council Chamber’s windows. Facing towards the Senate dome, Mace was sure he had just witnessed, and felt, the coming of a most ancient prophecy. 

In fact, he was sure every Jedi in the galaxy had felt the moment when the war was over. 

The Force was still blind to him, akin to the momentary blindness that came from staring directly into the sun. But then, beside him, appeared a cool blue presence.

“Master Qui-Gon.” Mace murmured, without turning to see the ghost. “I believe you are owed a few apologies, old friend. You were right, after all.”

“I’ll none of that, Grandmaster.” Qui-Gon’s lilt was exactly as it was in life, if a little distanced. “I suspect you are owed more condolences than I ever deserved.” And then, turning quiet, “Obi-Wan, too.” 

Mace grunted, and said nothing. 

“I feared I had ruined him.” Qui-Gon admitted, and Mace sorely regretted that it was not possible to punch a ghost.

“He saved himself, as they did each other. There was nothing we could do.” 

There was bitterness Mace didn't show in his voice. The missed calls, the avoidance— there was a point when he had to let go, let his former Padawan march on his own towards either his altar or his grave. 

“We must be grateful, then, for how it turned out.” the ghost sighed. “What is it for you now, Master Windu?”

What now? Heartened as he were, that the boys won their battle, the rest of them had a different fight. The Sith were gone, but the galaxy was far from healed. Obligations remained and continued to pour in. They had to grapple with the fallout of the final battles, they must be given time to mourn, before the rebuild began. The seat of corruption ran deep, and they barely had time to cauterise the wounds before it would start to fester. But— for one day, Mace decided, he was going to take a break.

“You know what, before the headache finds me again,” Mace said, referring by ‘headache’, of course, to the collective entity that was Obi-Wan and Anakin, “I’m taking a nap.”