exonerin - Tumblr blog

exonerin · 19 days ago

Note

A prompt if you're interested: Anakin is the Senator of the new govt of Tatooine. The Jedi Council are suspicious of how Tatooine overthrew the Hutts, believing Sith/CIS involvement, and send Obi-Wan to get close to Anakin to find out the truth. Anakin falls hard, not realizing it was just a mission for Obi-Wan. Cue all the angst, heartbroken!Ani, and guilty!Obi.

Also available on AO3. Thank you for the prompt!

The rancor was a problem. Continued to be a problem, in a sense. Though not his anymore. Anakin watched the gritted floor from a safe distance, loitering when he should leave.

He didn't know what he would do when the new Daimyo made his entrance.

Possibly, he would do what the rancor couldn't.

Lash out indiscriminately.

It was silly; he had never wanted to lead or rule. Anakin Skywalker was happiest alone, only finding peace when he worked on intricate circuitry. Yet, he couldn't deny the disappointment crushing his heart.

Anakin was a rancor. He would almost feel sympathy for the animal, taking some grim satisfaction in each victim the beast had made since Jabba's unfortunate accident. People couldn't resist wandering too close to the grid, emboldened by the missing slug on the throne.

Again, it wasn't Anakin's problem anymore. Some would argue it had never been his problem. Democracy had prevailed on Tatooine, making history.

Rather than their sulking liberator, the masses had chosen a champion. Admittedly, Anakin was a rather poor liberator, only one in the loosest of senses.

Murderer.

A fit of rage had ended generations of slavery and exploitation. Because this story didn't start with a righteous uprising. The masses hadn't risen up. There was no insurgency or rebellion.

No.

Not at all.

There was an enslaved man baring his teeth like the rancor imprisoned in the pit. And then there was blood, running down the dais. Anakin had bloodied his hands, but the spoils would go to another. What had Anakin expected? That the people would choose an Eldritch horror when they could have one of their own?

Anakin turned away, trudging to the exit where he had parked his speeder. It used to be Jabba's, and would likely be passed down to the new Daimyo, but in this moment, lawlessness ruled.

And Anakin would take what he was owed despite the chip resting snugly against his spine.

One rusty speeder was his price, his reward for a successful albeit spontaneous assassination.

Murderer.

It was all a matter of perspective, but the stories didn't frame Anakin as a hero. Instead, he was a monster who had made Jabba's head explode with magic like a ripe fruit.

Hutts didn't bleed red, but they bled to death anyway. Although the exploding-head business had likely killed Jabba first.

Anakin preferred to ignore the memories. He hadn't consciously lashed out. He hadn't planned to kill someone. Something outside his control had acted. Now, people feared him. Anakin could sense their apprehension. Everyone wondered whose head would roll next, and they didn't know that Anakin hadn't controlled this... magic.

No one stopped him when he left. The new administration would soon arrive to deal with the rancor. It wasn't Anakin's problem.

<<<<>>>>

"Hello there," someone said in a thick Core World accent. The rich accent was nice and warm, but regardless of how pleasantly the deep, decadent voice curled around each syllable, it was wrong. Confused, Anakin glanced over his shoulder, his gaze landing on the stranger in the doorway to his little shop.

Admittedly, it was Jabba's workshop, but no one had evicted him yet.

The new Daimyo was experiencing other problems, apparently. Possibly they involved a rampaging rancor, but that was none of Anakin's business. He supposed the Daimyo would remember him eventually. Taxes or eviction, which one was more likely? Or would the Daimyo ask him to explode the rancor's head, too?

A cold shiver ran down his spine, dread slithering like a snake.

"You shouldn't be here," he told the silhouette on the threshold. This wasn't a place where people from the Core Worlds would go unless they had something to hide. Moreover, his stranger sounded too suave.

"Oh?" the stranger asked.

He stepped into the cramped shop, the ratty curtain falling shut behind him.

Anakin dropped his spanner, the loud clattering of it hitting the sandstone floor barely registering as background noise. Static roared in his ears as he studied the stranger. He was handsome, more so than anyone else Anakin had ever met.

On Tatooine, everything was grimy and tainted, but this man glowed.

He had heard tales of angels in the cantinas as a child. But Anakin knew this man with his posh Core World accent, clean robes, immaculate beard and hair, and polite smile wasn't an angel.

Because Anakin had killed a man -- a slimy Hutt -- and he had known that there would be consequences. So, this angel was a cop.

Anakin suppressed the part that admired the man. He wouldn't let his gaze linger on broad shoulders, shallow crow's feet in the corners of blue eyes, or the soft, auburn hair.

"What do you want?" he demanded sharply.

The man's smile didn't waver, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. Yet, this mirth was superficial, Anakin's uncanny intuition whispered. It wasn't genuine.

"I heard that you're the best mechanic around. Could I trouble you to take a look at my datapad?"

Anakin blinked. The request was glib, each honeyed word simultaneously polite and teasing.

"Yeah, I can do that," he said slowly. He stood, dusting off his knees before he straightened.

Briefly, surprise flashed in the stranger's eyes as if he hadn't expected Anakin to stand taller than him. Despite the stranger's intimidating presence and confident, authoritative air, Anakin had two inches on him.

Instantly, the stranger schooled his features into a mild smile that never reached his eyes. From the folds of his cloak, he took a datapad, which he presented with a flourish.

After a last glance at the stranger's face, Anakin accepted the datapad.

The device looked clean, the screen barely scratched. Yet, the datapad refused to boot when Anakin tried to switch it on. Confused, he turned the device in his hands, letting his fingers run over the screws in the cover. It was always a good sign when he didn't hear loose parts clatter around in a datapad upon turning it.

Someone had opened the cover at some point, he noticed. It was always a terrible sign when the cover was opened before. Had someone tampered with this datapad before selling the device to the stranger? Or had the stranger unsuccessfully attempted to fix this issue himself?

When Anakin worked, useful tools tended to gather around him. He knew he hadn't left a magnetic screwdriver on the wing of the repulsorcraft. Yet, when he reached blindly, his fingers curled around the correct screwdriver.

With quick, practiced movements, he removed the back cover, exposing the datapad's guts.

Wary that he may encounter modifications, he let his gaze roam over the battery unit, the fan, and the circuit board. He was greeted with cooling paste where a CPU would sit.

Bewildered, he raised his head to meet the stranger's gaze.

"What did you do?" He asked. He hadn't intended to sound so accusatory, but he couldn't figure out what had transpired. Someone had stolen this datapad's brain, and Anakin couldn't fathom why. The computing power in these devices was so low that the effort wasn't worth it.

Suspicious about the datapad's state, he looked for the memory card. He was moderately reassured when he located the card in its slot.

"Can you fix the datapad?" the stranger asked, ignoring Anakin's accusations.

If this stranger wanted junk from Tatooine in his nice datapad, Anakin wouldn't stop him. He shrugged half-heartedly.

"If you pay for it," he said.

"Of course."

Anakin nodded once. Then, he took the datapad deeper into the workshop, hyper-aware of the stranger following him closely. He grabbed a sponge and the isopropyl alcohol solution from a desk to remove the cooling paste from the circuit board. After applying a new coating of cooling paste, he took a CPU from one of the many trays littering the workbench. Looking wasn't necessary. The best parts for the job would always end up in his hand when he reached into a tray. He grimaced when he recognized the old part.

As long as he didn't open heavy files, the stranger would likely never notice. The man had somehow obtained a datapad without a CPU in the first place.

Nevertheless, Anakin mourned putting old trash in a nice datapad. He would bet it was a newer model. As fancy as this Core World stranger.

The stranger waited patiently as Anakin reassembled the datapad.

"Thank you," he said. "How much do I owe you?"

Anakin was tempted to ask for the datapad, sure that he would take better care of the device than this stranger. Sighing wistfully, he handed the datapad back. He knew his reluctance was visible in his expression, but the stranger didn't seem to mind Anakin's resemblance to a krayt dragon spotting a shiny treasure for its hoard.

The stranger's smile widened until his teeth showed. His mirth reached his eyes, and Anakin knew this smile was genuine. Swallowing thickly, Anakin stared, his thoughts scattering.

"Well, dear?" the stranger pressed.

Anakin squeaked, his vocal cords and fingers twitching. No one had ever called him dear before. But the man couldn't know Anakin was the local freak show. He was surprised to realize the term of endearment flattered rather than insulted him.

"Ten credits," he blurted, unable to assess whether this was a fair price when he could only think of the stranger's brilliant smile.

The stranger reached into his cloak for a pouch with credits, placing ten credits on the workbench.

"Thank you," the man said. Anakin nodded dumbly. After a long, wandering look through the workplace, assessing Anakin and the space, the stranger turned away.

"You're welcome," Anakin said, watching the stranger leave with a heavy weight in his chest. Disappointment, he identified. He wished that...

Shakily, he exhaled.

Well, it didn't matter.

Wait.

"I'm not a mechanic," he told the empty workshop. He wasn't. He was Jabba's repulsorcraft technician, though he was talented with all things mechanical. They spoke to him in an unspoken language that no one else seemed to hear, whispering their problems to him. Moreover, no one would advertise Anakin Skywalker's skill, no matter how charming the stranger inquiring.

People didn't like him, and killing the local tyrant hadn't improved his reputation.

Weird things happened around Anakin Skywalker. His personality was unpleasant, he couldn't regulate his emotions, and his temper sat on a hair trigger. According to the rumors, Anakin Skywalker had an attitude and anger management issues.

Murderer. Monster. Freak.

<<<<>>>>

Anakin didn't like Jabba's palace. Although he supposed it wasn't Jabba's anymore, the memories and connotations remained. It was a Daimyo's palace. Oh, Anakin knew the slave revolt had changed the players on the board. Yet, he still wore a slave chip.

Not much longer, though.

All Jabba's slaves were cordially invited to the palace to get their chips removed.

It felt so strange. Anakin had led this revolt in a sense. With a single act of violence, Anakin had started an unstoppable avalanche of resistance. For a few hours after Jabba had exploded, people looked at him, expecting him to lead them to the correct conclusion.

And then the group grew, and Anakin was pushed to the fringes. Because he was a liability, and people recalled they had never liked him or his attitude.

While others talked, the air hazy with emotions Anakin could taste, he was alone. Isolated. His mother used to tell him the other children were jealous of him because he was special. Perhaps she was right, but Anakin suspected it was her only way to soothe an angry, hurt child. Maybe she considered Anakin's brand of special as enviable. But she was alone in that assessment.

Because Anakin Skywalker was a freak and arrogant, too.

A long line had formed in the muggy, dark hallways of the castle. Anakin took his place, waiting. No one struck up a conversation with him. Anakin hadn't expected anyone to talk to him anyway. His thoughts wandered freely as his body remained stuck in place, waiting endlessly for the mercy of his new ruler.

Weren't they worried that Anakin would explode their heads, too?

Sometimes, he felt so cruel, his lungs itching with the urge to scream loudly. A scream that would tear Tatooine asunder and force people to...

He wrinkled his nose, aware that he wanted validation. If one person acknowledged his existence and liked him, everything would be different. Anakin wouldn't be alone anymore.

Murderer. Monster. Freak.

"Dear?"

Startled, he swiveled to his right, staring wide-eyed at the Core World stranger. The stranger treated him to a smile -- another one that didn't reach his eyes. Yet, he had called Anakin dear again.

"Yes?" he squeaked.

"I tried to draw your attention, but you didn't seem to hear me. A name would be helpful."

Anakin snorted. "Do you always demand people's names without introducing yourself first?"

The stranger quirked an eyebrow, visibly amused by Anakin's reaction. "My apologies for my rude behavior. Well, allow me to surrender my name first. I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan offered him a hand.

"Anakin Skywalker," Anakin said as he accepted the hand. The stranger's -- Obi-Wan's, he amended -- hand was pleasant; covered in calluses, broad, warm but not sweaty, and applying the right amount of pressure. It was a good handshake.

So, his stranger shook many hands.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice lilting around Anakin's name in a way an Outer Rim drawl couldn't achieve. Thickly, Anakin swallowed. It was unfair for someone so handsome to have such a pleasant voice. It was velvet and honey, durasteel and ice, confidence, grace, and lighthearted amusement.

Simultaneously warm and aloof as it curled around each syllable, cradling them. Listening to Obi-Wan speak was already... so delightful it sent shivers down Anakin's spine.

And Anakin was oh-so-weak to it because he had no immunity against kindness despite knowing this was superficial. Obi-Wan was only polite.

"Do you mind if I wait with you?" Obi-Wan asked him.

Anakin narrowed his eyes. "Are you skipping the line?"

Obi-Wan raised both eyebrows. "No, I'm waiting for someone else."

Confused, Anakin tilted his head.

Obi-Wan didn't elaborate, though. He stood with his hands behind his back, one hand clasped around the other wrist, his back ramrod straight. A soldier, Anakin realized. His stranger acted like a soldier, which corroborated the hypothesis that he was a cop. However, he hadn't arrested or blamed Anakin for anything. Perhaps Anakin could let his guards down slightly to let the first person to test them through. It would be so nice to have company for once.

From his periphery, he glanced at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan's decision to stick by his side flattered him; it made him feel special -- like he mattered when he was invisible to everyone else. At last, someone saw him and decided to stick around. Although they were silent, it was gratifying to have company when he knew people looked. It was a sign that Anakin wasn't unwanted, that some people chose his company. So much of his life, Anakin spent alone out of necessity.

Should he attempt small talk?

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, casting surreptitious glances, which Obi-Wan caught each time.

"Does your datapad still give you trouble?" he asked.

"Occasionally," Obi-Wan replied, which was a rather unspecific answer. What was Anakin supposed to say next?

"Oh." Anakin feared his disappointment sneaked into his voice. Why did Obi-Wan stick by his side when he wouldn't talk to Anakin? Now, Anakin felt more alone. Perhaps Obi-Wan didn't like him, after all. His bottom lip wobbled pathetically. Quickly, he glanced away, reluctant to show Obi-Wan the dismissal hurt.

Obi-Wan sighed. "My apologies, dear," he said. "I didn't mean to be so curt."

Surprised, Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, wondering how Obi-Wan had sensed his moodiness.

"I'm... I'm not good at small talk," Anakin admitted, forcing the words from his lips. It wasn't necessarily that he was out of practice. The problem was that Anakin had never had practice.

"If you have a good conversation partner, anyone is good at small talk," Obi-Wan said. "Do you enjoy traveling, dear?"

And Anakin talked about his trips into the Dune Seas to collect parts, his caution forgotten because someone listened. Obi-Wan would respond with tales of adventures on different planets, describing them in vivid detail. Time passed quickly, and as they approached the throne room, Anakin confessed he had always wanted to travel the galaxy.

"As a child, I wanted to visit every star system in the galaxy," he said with a rueful smile. "I don't think I ever will get off this dust ball."

He had dreamed of adventures on distant planets. However, his roots had already grown too deep. He would never leave, and the knowledge hurt fiercely. The pain never grew dimmer, turned jagged and sharp with the loss of his mother.

"My mother used to--" his voice tapered off as he realized he spilled his deepest secrets to a virtual stranger. He looked away, studying the uneven floor. Kicking the dust, he shrugged. "Never mind," he said, his voice thick with grief.

"It's never too late to travel," Obi-Wan offered, sounding so gentle that Anakin's eyes prickled again. Turning barbed like a cacta bush was his only defense when he yearned to hide against a broad shoulder. Obi-Wan's broad shoulder.

Anakin scoffed. "I'm a slave. I won't go anywhere," he snarled and spat like a feral beast.

"No. You are a person, Anakin."

Wide-eyed, Anakin stared at Obi-Wan, wondering whether Obi-Wan could see that his eyes were wet.

"Thank you," he mumbled, already embarrassed by his outburst.

Obi-Wan smiled fondly, and it reached his eyes. This was genuine, and it stole Anakin's breath away. His heart skipped a beat as he realized how handsome Obi-Wan was when he smiled. Then, Obi-Wan reached for Anakin, who froze as Obi-Wan's hand brushed curls from his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut as Obi-Wan's knuckles brushed over his skin, delightfully cool in the desert heat. Anakin barely stopped himself from leaning into the fleeting touch.

Too soon, Obi-Wan withdrew his hand. Anakin's eyes opened again. Obi-Wan was all he could see. He was unmoored, unbalanced, too vulnerable, but Obi-Wan treated him carefully, keeping Anakin safe in this fragile moment. Anakin felt delicate, his emotions groaning under their weight, but Obi-Wan helped support them.

"You will go places, dear," Obi-Wan said. Each word sounded like a promise, delivered solemnly. Anakin could only believe Obi-Wan when the galaxy echoed in his smooth, silky voice.

"Okay," he croaked, nodding.

"It's your turn, dear," Obi-Wan said, gesturing to the entrance of the room.

Confused, Anakin looked into the room, confirming Obi-Wan was right. No one waited in line before them, and the chair in the temporary chip removal office was empty. Time had never passed so quickly. Obi-Wan didn't follow him inside.

The chip was removed quickly, the process made efficient by repetition. Within minutes, Anakin left the room, feeling much lighter than the absence of the chip warranted.

He was a person.

Obi-Wan had disappeared. Anakin still didn't know who he had waited for.

The speeder Anakin had commandeered in the wake of his impromptu uprising still waited by the entrance to the castle. No one stopped him as he took the speeder to return to the small workshop.

Jabba had used him to work on his repulsorcrafts, but Anakin supposed he could be a mechanic. As long as no one demanded the space back... Well, finders keepers, right?

<<<<>>>>

Obi-Wan returned two days later with his datapad.

"Hello, Anakin," he greeted Anakin warmly.

Anakin couldn't help grinning. "Hello, Obi-Wan."

"Would you mind looking at my datapad for me, dear?"

Anakin crossed the space to take the nice datapad from Obi-Wan, cradling the device in his arms. He inspected the casing, wondering whether someone had opened the back panel since Anakin had last fixed her.

Surely not.

"What's the problem?" he asked Obi-Wan.

"The datapad won't switch on. I think something is loose," Obi-Wan explained.

Anakin's gaze dropped to the datapad in his hands, his horror mounting. Gingerly, he shifted his grip so he could shake the datapad lightly. Something clattered inside the casing. Horrified, he looked at Obi-Wan.

"What did you do to her?" he asked aghast.

Obi-Wan blinked, surprised. Then, he burst out laughing. Awed, Anakin watched as Obi-Wan tossed his head back, baring his teeth in an infectious grin, his laughter rumbling in his chest. Wonder filled every crevice in Anakin's barren soul as he gawked, mapping every line in Obi-Wan's face, fascinated by his laughter. Although he was still horrified, he couldn't suppress a small smile filled with every quiet, awestruck emotion he experienced.

"I dropped my datapad," Obi-Wan admitted once his laughter tapered off.

The sound hung in the air, ringing in Anakin's ears. He would store the memory in a box in his heart to relive it later, when he was all alone again. He kept precious memories in that box. Although their dialogue eroded with time, the images remained.

"I'll take a look," Anakin said breathlessly.

"Please do," Obi-Wan responded. He sounded good-natured, still amused by Anakin, who didn't know how to deal with any of this. Ducking his head, Anakin returned to his workbench.

Obi-Wan followed.

"I saw flyers hanging on all the boards," Obi-Wan prefaced.

Anakin glanced up to meet Obi-Wan's gaze.

"Flyers?" he echoed. Blindly, he reached for his toolbox, the right screwdriver landing in his hand automatically. As he unscrewed the screws without looking, he tried to figure out what Obi-Wan referred to. An epiphany hit him.

"Oh! The festival."

"Would you mind telling me what this festival celebrates?" Obi-Wan asked.

"We have gods and goddesses in our moons and suns. The gods of the suns are called the twin dragons. We'll celebrate them during the festival. We'll light up the city and have a large bonfire so that the night won't fall."

"I see. Are the twin dragons modeled after the different dragon species on Tatooine?"

What?

Confused, Anakin shook his head. "No," he said, drawing out the sound. He placed the screwdriver back in the toolbox. "They're the suns. So, they don't have bodies."

"I see?"

Now, Obi-Wan sounded confused.

Anakin focused on the datapad, sighing in relief when he found the CPU still in its slot.

"One of the capacitors was jarred free," Anakin responded. "If there was enough stress on the board to break one clean off, then I can only imagine the state the connections are in."

The damage didn't align with dropping a datapad, but Anakin doubted he wanted to know what Obi-Wan had subjected this poor datapad to. Anakin was liable to keep the datapad otherwise. He wasn't sure whether Obi-Wan would mind when Anakin turned greedy. However, he suspected it wouldn't help him impress Obi-Wan.

"Is that all?" Obi-Wan asked.

Confused, Anakin lowered his gaze to the board, mapping it with his eyes. Did he miss something?

"Is it insensitive for an outsider to celebrate this festival?" Obi-Wan asked.

"No," Anakin mumbled. "The goal is to keep the night away together. Even if you don't understand the ceremony, it's impressive. Plus, the bantha skewers are legendary. If you want to go, I'll give you the location where the representative will light the bonfire and everyone releases their lanterns if you're interested."

Triumph coursed through Anakin as he located a loose SD card.

"I'll fix this," he said.

"Would you be willing to escort an ignorant tourist during the festival?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin's head whipped up from the board to look at Obi-Wan owlishly.

"What?" he asked unintelligibly.

Obi-Wan smiled. Again, it didn't reach his eyes.

"Would you be my date for the festival, dear?"

Anakin's jaw dropped. No one had asked him on a date before.

"I-- yes. Yes, I would... Definitely," he stammered. It was too late to play it cool. Anakin had already made a fool of himself. Fortunately, Obi-Wan didn't appear to mind.

Warmth thawed the neutrality in Obi-Wan's eyes.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, his voice brimming with that same affection. Anakin's fingers were usually steady; his job required it. Now, they trembled as he fixed Obi-Wan's datapad.

"Where can I pick you up, dear?" Obi-Wan asked as he compensated Anakin for his services. He placed the credits in Anakin's hand, whose fingers twitched as Obi-Wan's fingertips brushed over Anakin's palm. Anakin wet his dry lips, hoping his voice wouldn't betray his nerves.

"Uh... Here is fine," he said. His voice broke, tapering off in a squeak.

Obi-Wan nodded, giving Anakin a last amused, fond, sincere smile before he left.

<<<<>>>>

Anakin had never been on a date. One of the disadvantages of growing up in the slave quarters was that everyone knew you. By the time Anakin became a teenager, his reputation was already cemented among his peers. Among everyone else, too.

He was volatile, arrogant, and an outcast.

Not yet a murderer.

But everyone knew inexplicable things happened around Anakin. He was the resident freak.

This had hurt his chances of ever dating anyone. That was before he had exploded Jabba's head in a turn of events that Anakin still didn't understand. While he had spearheaded the revolt, it appeared he was the only one who considered his actions a liberation.

Murderer.

If Obi-Wan hung around the palace, he would know what Anakin had done. Yet, he wasn't terrified, seeking out Anakin's company. On the contrary, he had asked Anakin out on a date, which meant he liked Anakin somewhat.

Nervously, he paced the workshop, brushing by the repulsorcrafts. With Jabba gone, Anakin doubted anyone would ask after them. His fingers itched to disassemble them to calm his frayed nerves and fluttering heart. Wringing his hands, he waited, part of him worried that Obi-Wan wouldn't show up.

Eventually, he gave in, finding his toolbox already on the engine of a repulsorcraft, having mysteriously moved from his workbench to the repulsorcraft. His focus was fragmented among hopes, worries, and eager anticipation. Thus, he progressed slowly, turning away from the repulsorcraft to pace the workshop endlessly whenever his nerves asphyxiated him.

"Happy light night, Anakin."

Startled, Anakin jolted, jerking his head up from the repulsorcraft's guts. Obi-Wan stood on the other end of the repulsorcraft, smiling warmly at him. For a second, Anakin could only stare, swallowing thickly.

"Happy light night, Obi-Wan," Anakin said after a long pause. Obi-Wan had used the proper greeting for the festival. Had he read up on it?

"Shall we go?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin nodded vigorously. " Let me... Just, uh.. Let me." He gestured helplessly with the tools still clutched in his sweaty, grease-streaked hands.

"Of course," Obi-Wan nodded.

As Anakin placed the tools on the repulsorcraft's round engine, the welder started sliding immediately. The tool landed on the floor with a soft thud. Gravity distorted around Anakin. His tools rarely clattered on the floor, something cushioning their fall to prevent them from breaking.

Typically, people noticed these odd inconsistencies around Anakin, but Obi-Wan seemed blind to them. Obi-Wan's smile didn't waver as he rounded the repulsorcraft to offer Anakin an arm. Self-conscious about his sweaty palms, Anakin rubbed them on his tunic inconspicuously. Of course, this was something Obi-Wan did notice. Finally, Anakin realized Obi-Wan's smile hadn't reached his eyes before. Now, it did, the pale blue so alive it stole Anakin's breath away.

Dumbstruck, he let his arm rest on Obi-Wan's forearm. The long line of skin contact burned pleasantly, making Anakin hyper-aware of their proximity. With his arm in the crook of Obi-Wan's, how would others perceive them?

Together.

Intertwined closely, indicating a deep bond and deeper trust. Anakin leaned into this fantasy, realizing how much he had yearned for this when he let his shoulder bump lightly against Obi-Wan on each step.

The roads were crowded with people carrying lit lanterns. In the crowd, they were only another couple, and it felt magical. The skies had turned a dusky pink, the binary suns already setting.

"We'll be late," Anakin said, urging Obi-Wan to walk faster. "If we aren't fast, the fires will already be lit."

"Patience, dear," Obi-Wan scolded, but he sounded too endeared to grate Anakin's easily hurt pride. Moreover, he picked up his pace when Anakin tugged on his arm. They walked so close, brushing with each step, making Anakin feel like he was one of the dragons, twisted around its twin.

They reached the square just in time to catch the start of the ceremony. The air was filled with a static that no one else could experience. A heady mix of excitement and celebration rose from the crowd, constricting in Anakin's lungs. Usually, he felt so alone, but Obi-Wan looked at the sky in quiet awe.

Proud to share this moment, Anakin's gaze swept over the square, taking it in as if this was the first time he had witnessed the ceremony. Countless lanterns dotted the square, and the bonfire roared. For one night, Mos Espa was turned into a city of light and life. It was breathtaking, but it threatened to swallow him whole, too.

"There's something special about such jubilance, isn't there?" Obi-Wan asked gently. Disoriented, Anakin turned his face to Obi-Wan, aware his eyes were wide and his expression open when so many emotions and sensations pushed on him from all sides. Did Obi-Wan understand what Anakin experienced when so many people gathered -- all feeling the same excitement?

Obi-Wan lifted a hand, brushing curls from Anakin's forehead. Were they matted with sweat? While Obi-Wan smelt of clean clothes, fresh air, and a nice pleasant smell Anakin had never experienced on Tatooine, Anakin had paced his workplace all day. Yet, those insecurities melted when Obi-Wan's smile grew impossibly fond.

"It's overwhelming," Obi-Wan muttered. His fingers stroked over Anakin's forehead once more, muting the influx of data fed through an invisible sixth sense. Confused, Anakin tilted his head, which made Obi-Wan chuckle. Then, Obi-Wan pulled his hand away, and Anakin couldn't help pouting, prompting more laughter from Obi-Wan.

Equal parts triumphant and embarrassed to make Obi-Wan laugh, Anakin wrinkled his nose. Although the ceremony continued near the bonfire, Obi-Wan's gaze remained on Anakin. In a sea of people whose consciousnesses crushed into Anakin's in towering waves, Obi-Wan was the only one who existed, keeping him moored and protected in a cove.

They were isolated, but it didn't feel lonely. Instead, Anakin was content and happy. He felt so calm and patient in Obi-Wan's company despite the bubbling giddiness in his stomach. The bubbles flapped their wings like butterflies. Or perhaps his stomach had collapsed into a hungry black hole.

Obi-Wan let Anakin pull him around the festival terrain, stopping by stalls. Without second thought, Anakin revealed all his favorite secret spots to Obi-Wan. Eventually, as the night drew to a slow close, they settled on the rooftops of the slave quarters, which towered over the city. Each street was lit up, competing with the stars in the sky.

Time had turned syrupy in those final hours before the first sun would peek over the horizon. On the rooftops, the noise of the festival sounded dimmer, turning the atmosphere cozy. Anakin twisted the hem of his threadbare tunic around his fingers, oddly nervous again. The meat skewers Obi-Wan had bought to thank Anakin for dragging Obi-Wan around warmed his stomach.

"It's almost over," he muttered, his disappointment evident in his voice. He wished the binary suns would remain down forever. If the night lasted forever, Obi-Wan would continue to follow him through Mos Espa. Then, Anakin would never be alone. Most of the night, Obi-Wan had held his hand, and Anakin had secretly pretended they were more.

"Thank you, Anakin," Obi-Wan thanked him. His voice and expression were warm. Every smile Anakin had earned tonight was sincere. Somehow, Anakin had wiggled past Obi-Wan's defenses.

If only tonight never ended.

Melancholy was a cold, heavy coat draped over his shoulders. With a deep sigh, Anakin shrugged.

"Let me take you home, dear," Obi-Wan suggested.

"Already?" Anakin blurted, shaking his head. "But--" His voice trailed off. They had seen all the sights. Besides, most people returned home. The festival had drawn to a whisper of an end as the bonfire ate the final bits of wood scavenged from the desert.

Obi-Wan offered him his hand. Reluctantly, Anakin let his fingers interlace with Obi-Wan's.

"You are very endearing," Obi-Wan told him. "It's a delight to spend time with you, Anakin."

"Oh," Anakin squeaked. He shuffled his feet, swallowing a lame 'thanks'.

Obi-Wan smiled again, and Anakin couldn't help mirroring Obi-Wan. He forgot to protest more as Obi-Wan walked them back to the workshop. In the entrance, Obi-Wan's hand rose to Anakin's forehead again. His fingers brushed Anakin's curls aside. Then, his hand slipped lower to cup Anakin's cheek. Unbidden, Anakin nuzzled Obi-Wan's palm, letting his head rest in the lingering touch.

Obi-Wan's thumb brushed over his cheekbone, tracing over the end of a scar bisecting his eyebrow. The scar barely missed his eye.

"I've never been so happy," Anakin confessed, the admission frightening. Revealing he cared so deeply -- that he relied so heavily on Obi-Wan -- made him vulnerable. His heart stuttered and fluttered, skipping beats as he waited for a response. Did his eyes plead, too?

Obi-Wan smiled, and the atmosphere felt so tender. Anakin's intuition told him the situation was fragile. His sixth sense assured him that the warmth in Obi-Wan's eyes was real. Could he trust this?

"Dear heart," Obi-Wan sighed. Anakin's lashes lowered, his gaze on the tips of their boots that stood so close together. Obi-Wan's boots were polished and in such good condition. Meanwhile, Anakin's boots were covered in dust and scratches. They were old and worn. Nevertheless, they served their purpose. "You deserve so much happiness."

In the distance, someone played a melancholy tune on a bone flute. Anakin recognized the song. Once it ended, the first sun would peek over the horizon.

With only minutes to go before the festival would end, Anakin couldn't bear to let this end.

"Then, stay," he pleaded.

Obi-Wan hesitated. His gaze roved over Anakin's face. The flute music filled the charged silence.

"Nothing can last forever," Obi-Wan said, choking on his response. "You will only hurt yourself by clinging to impermanence."

"One dance," Anakin bargained.

Obi-Wan smiled, simultaneously sad and amused. And so, so, so sincere.

"Very well, dear. But I must admit I do not know the steps."

"Me neither," Anakin confessed readily, perking up with the knowledge that Obi-Wan would stay a little longer. "I've never..." He trailed off as he realized he had confessed more than he should. No one had ever asked to dance with him.

What if Obi-Wan just hadn't realized yet that Anakin was undesirable?

"I see," Obi-Wan said. "Well, we must remedy that."

One of Obi-Wan's hands wrapped around his waist, the other splaying flat on his back to guide him. Anakin squeaked as he jolted, Obi-Wan's hands searing him through his threadbare tunic.

Obi-Wan shushed him gently while reeling Anakin in. Anakin went willingly, collapsing against Obi-Wan's chest, his hands flattened between their bodies. Helplessly, he stared at Obi-Wan, looking down slightly to meet Obi-Wan's gaze.

"On your feet, dear," Obi-Wan urged, bumping Anakin's hips with his to encourage him. Anakin scrambled to his feet, arching his back as Obi-Wan's hands shifted. His hands clung to Obi-Wan's outer tunic, wrinkling the fabric.

Obi-Wan didn't complain about Anakin ruining his clothes.

"Is this comfortable?" Obi-Wan whispered, his lips so close to Anakin's ear. A hitched breath escaped Anakin. He nodded vigorously, drawing a chuckle from Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan guided him, making them shuffle lightly. Although it was awkward, there was no one to observe or ridicule them. So, Anakin relaxed in Obi-Wan's hold. As he relaxed and let Obi-Wan's body guide him, their dancing turned smoother.

They moved in perfect synchrony, Anakin's body quickly adapting to the repetitive movements. Growing at ease with the steps, Anakin took small liberties.

He hooked his chin over Obi-Wan's shoulder and sidled closer so their bodies touched everywhere. Their legs threatened to tangle, but somehow, they never tripped.

Anakin's sixth sense was manipulated lightly -- small prods and impressions that helped him move. He knew it couldn't be Obi-Wan, but the presence was so familiar.

The dancing grew more fun and graceful than Anakin had expected, but it couldn't last. Too soon, Obi-Wan stepped away, opening up space between their bodies. He reached for one of Anakin's hands, and this sixth intuition whispered Obi-Wan would spin him. Politely, the presence asked Anakin if this was okay.

Anakin brushed against this gentle presence, eagerly agreeing. Obi-Wan's hand tightened around his, and Anakin moved along. He spun on his feet, guided by Obi-Wan and failing to swallow peels of delighted laughter. He didn't think he had ever laughed so freely, and it would be mortifying if the presence in his mind didn't share his joy. If he didn't catch a glimpse of Obi-Wan's awestruck expression on a turn, which turned Anakin's insides gooey.

Obi-Wan caught him when he stumbled, his hand returning to the small of Anakin's back. Their dance ended in a tangle of limbs. Anakin draped over the hand on his back, head tipped back. His ragged breathing was shallow and harsh in the silence.

Obi-Wan looked down at him. Anakin stared back, completely at Obi-Wan's mercy and enjoying this helplessness. Obi-Wan's lips parted around a deep sigh.

The tip of Anakin's tongue darted out to wet his lips as nerves coalesced in his stomach. Tension built, settling in Anakin's body.

Obi-Wan leaned in until his exhales ghosted over Anakin's lips. Intuitively, Anakin's eyes had slipped shut, cloaking the world in darkness. His other senses sharpened. Obi-Wan overwhelmed his senses.

Would Obi-Wan kiss him?

Yet, Obi-Wan didn't move.

A pathetic keen fell from Anakin's lips.

"I can't," Obi-Wan muttered fervently. "I can't, dear. Believe me, I want to. You have no idea what you look like, so sweet and perfect. You're irresistible. But my conscience won't let me, dear."

Anakin opened his eyes. Obi-Wan was so close his vision blurred briefly.

"Why?" he whined.

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply.

"Please, dear," he whispered.

Anakin knew he looked crestfallen. His bottom lip wobbled, even when he caught it between his teeth and bit down harshly. Although his bottom lip stung, he didn't care to release it lest he cry.

"Okay," he muttered miserably.

Obi-Wan looked tortured.

Lips brushed over Anakin's softly, making them tingle. They asked him to release the bottom lip Anakin abused. Anakin gasped, complying by accident. A weak noise fell from his lips, which convinced Obi-Wan to give him a second peck. This one lasted a second longer. Neither moved.

Obi-Wan pulled away, waiting until Anakin had regained his balance before releasing him completely.

"I had a wonderful night, dear. Thank you for entertaining an old fool."

Anakin nodded, aware his cheeks were flushed. He couldn't help touching his lips with a finger, which drew Obi-Wan's attention lower for a second.

"I liked it a lot," Anakin admitted, sounding embarrassingly shy and breathless.

Guilt flitted across Obi-Wan's expression.

"Sleep well, dear heart," he said before turning away and leaving Anakin behind in the workshop.

Bleak sunlight filtered through the street as Anakin watched Obi-Wan stalk away.

<<<<>>>>

Shuffling in the doorway pulled Anakin's attention from the partly dismantled repulsorcraft.

"Obi-Wan!"

He couldn't hide his excitement, letting it bleed in his voice. Obi-Wan smiled, a sincere but rueful one that left Anakin wrong-footed.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Of course, dear," Obi-Wan reassured him, but Anakin knew it wasn't necessarily true. Neither deception nor a lie, but a strange third thing that felt so final. Deflection. "How are you doing, Anakin?"

Anakin tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over Obi-Wan. "I'm fine," he said with a nod. "Turning Jabba's pet projects into scrap."

"And what will you build from those scraps?" Obi-Wan asked him. He strode through the space, steps always light and graceful, to run a hand over a battered engine. Anakin's gaze dropped to Obi-Wan's hand resting on the pod.

"Perhaps I'll sell the parts," Anakin mused. "To fund another project."

Obi-Wan nodded, stroking the sleek metal. Anakin wished he received this attention instead. His gaze wandered, landing on the datapad in Obi-Wan's other hand.

"How's the datapad doing?" he asked.

Obi-Wan looked up from the repulsorcraft, one eyebrow raised. "I hear more concern for my datapad than for me," he pointed out dryly. "But my datapad is doing fine."

Anakin snorted inelegantly, startled by the sound.

Obi-Wan's gaze mellowed again, and Anakin... oh, his heart skipped another beat. His cheeks heated, the affection in Obi-Wan's expression turning his insides into goo.

"I wanted to assure that--" A commlink went off, its shrill beeping cutting through Obi-Wan's sentence. A frown marred Obi-Wan's face as he took a commlink from a pocket in his tunic. "Excuse me," he said after checking who called. "I'll be back in a minute."

Obi-Wan placed his datapad on the repulsorcraft before leaving the workshop. Anakin watched Obi-Wan go before pouncing on the datapad. He wanted to do something for Obi-Wan. There were a million upgrades he could perform to help Obi-Wan. And Obi-Wan never needed to know, but Anakin's heart would burst with his feelings for Obi-Wan.

Thus, he turned the datapad over in his hands, the right tool already resting on the repulsorcraft, summoned there by powers Anakin would never understand. He much preferred it when this magic placed tools within his reach rather than exploded heads.

With nimble fingers, he opened the casing, planning to clean the fans on the datapad. Everything got dusty on Tatooine fast, and Anakin doubted Obi-Wan would know to clean the fans regularly. Carefully, he placed the casing aside, his gaze automatically drawn to the CPU he had replaced.

It was gone. Ripped out in favor of a CPU that was so sleek and modern that Anakin had never seen its make before. Uncomprehendingly, he ran his index finger over the new CPU. Where was the one Anakin had placed?

Why had Obi-Wan ripped it out? Anakin swallowed thickly, his eyes burning. If Obi-Wan had always possessed the original CPU and the knowledge of how to replace them, why had he approached Anakin?

Anakin's heart cracked, the emotions spilling from the fractures. Obi-Wan had ripped Anakin's CPU out, but it felt like he had ripped Anakin's heart from his chest instead. Why had Obi-Wan approached him, then?

He wrinkled his nose, realizing it was stuffy as he battled unshed tears. His fingers clenched around the open datapad.

Footsteps made his shoulder jolt. Quickly, he jerked his gaze to the doorway. Obi-Wan entered the workshop again, his expression neutral and eyes hiding a thousand secrets he hadn't shared with Anakin.

Why had Obi-Wan approached him?

And immediately after Anakin had led a slave revolt and blown up Jabba's head, too.

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed as he saw the datapad in Anakin's hands. It was an admission of guilt. Part of Anakin had hoped he had misunderstood, but Obi-Wan's sharp shift in attitude, the gentleness gone in favor of cold professionalism, confirmed Anakin was a fool. A lovesick fool, he realized too late. Anakin's heart broke into large, useless chunks. Swallowing thickly past the lump lodged in his throat, he met Obi-Wan's cautious gaze.

"Who are you?" Anakin demanded. "Why are you here?"

His voice trembled, husky with his tears and betrayal.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Master on the Council of the Jedi Order. Circumstance makes me a High General of the GAR these days, too."

Obi-Wan was important, then. A Jedi -- the mystical warriors from tales -- whereas Anakin was nothing. He was dust and sand and the scar on the nape of his neck.

"I don't believe you," Anakin spluttered. He did believe but couldn't... His heart was already broken, the realization that he loved Obi-Wan dawning too late. Now, Obi-Wan had already betrayed him. Why would a Jedi bother with an ex-slave if not for the head-exploding business? Would Obi-Wan arrest him, after all?

But why draw out the arrest by toying with Anakin's heart?

Obi-Wan reached into his robes, holding a lightsaber hilt in his upturned palm, which he presented to Anakin. It was a sleek weapon that tugged on Anakin's sixth sense.

"This is a lightsaber," Obi-Wan said. "Perhaps not proof of my identity, but I hope this will suffice nonetheless."

Anakin shook his head, unable to resist the urge to reach for Obi-Wan's lightsabers. Ah. His fingers trembled. The hilt was warm under his fingertips, vibrating softly. His intuition told him the lightsaber welcomed him, but Obi-Wan's expression remained neutral. Yet, he allowed Anakin to trail reverent fingers over the evidence that Obi-Wan could only ever betray and leave him.

"As for your second question. After the Republic learned of an uprising on Tatooine, I was dispatched to confirm whether this revolution would destabilize our hyperspace routes through the Outer Rim. I was here to judge whether you were a threat."

Anakin reared back, his wide eyes searching Obi-Wan's expression. Obi-Wan's voice was too cold. "But I liked you," Anakin blurted. "I trusted you... I...." His bottom lip wobbled, the betrayal stinging so badly. Quickly, he wiped at his eyes with a rough sleeve, but he couldn't stop big, fat tears from rolling down his overheated cheeks.

Obi-Wan paled, his free hand lifting to Anakin's shoulder. He dropped the hand before he could offer Anakin comfort. Pathetically, Anakin sniffled, torn between anger, misery, and grief.

"I'm sorry, dear," Obi-Wan apologized, his voice heavy. "I never meant to deceive you. You were... disarming and so very charming. I shouldn't have led you on, dear. I'm so intensely sorry for hurting you."

Anakin's hands balled into fists.

"I suppose you weren't aware that your exploits have caused ripples in the Senate of the Galactic Republic. You have played a larger role than you realize, Anakin. Protecting you from further investigation is all I can do. I have reported that you will not pose a threat in the future. My mission is over."

"What will you do now?" Anakin asked, a tremble sneaking in his voice, which broke on the question. Stupid hope blossomed in his chest, encouraged by the repeated use of the term of endearment.

"I will return to Coruscant," Obi-Wan said, sounding guilty.

Betrayal morphed into scorching anger instantly. Around Anakin, the tools, parts, and a half-empty canister with water vibrated. Anakin's emotions choked him. For a second, he was transported back to Jabba's throne room, listening to comments about his mother. The objects rose in the air, turning sharply to orient themselves. They trembled as they aimed threateningly at Obi-Wan, guided by a force Anakin couldn't control.

"Then return," he snarled. "I don't want to see you ever again."

He regretted the words as soon as they flew past his lips, spat and snarled in a fit of rage. Ultimately, the words didn't matter, though. Obi-Wan would return to Coruscant regardless. Anakin was only a mission.

Obi-Wan bowed, his hands tucked in the opposite sleeves. "So, it will be," he said, his tone as formal as his posture.

Something brushed by Anakin's mind. Green and kind, infused with remorse and a greeting. All objects clattered to the floor, the water spilling on the floor. Breathlessly, Anakin felt his mind respond, uncurling. Although he couldn't control it, he became aware of the shape of this sixth sense. He leaned into the invisible touch, his eyes slipping shut as Obi-Wan's mind cupped his, gentling the prickliness with soft strokes. Too soon, Obi-Wan disentangled their minds, the absence hurting fiercely.

Anakin tried to cling to Obi-Wan's mind, missing the closeness and attention.

With a last inclination of his head, Obi-Wan turned and left the workshop.

Anakin's fingers tightened around the datapad in his hands, clutching it as he let Obi-Wan leave.

<<<<>>>>

The datapad turned into a token. Although hurt haunted every memory of Obi-Wan, and the datapad invariably reminded him of Obi-Wan, he couldn't bring himself to trash it. Somehow, it turned into his most precious possession, a constant companion.

Weeks after Obi-Wan left, Anakin pined no less than the moment Obi-Wan left his workshop. The intensity of his love wasn't lessened by Obi-Wan's betrayal or absence.

He kept his mind occupied by work. His days and nights were filled with disassembling the repulsorcrafts, which only worked until he had sold the parts. Suddenly, the space was empty. The workshop had transformed into a husk, an empty shell that only remembered its function with nothing to show for it. Anakin felt equally numb as he cradled the datapad to his chest, wishing upon invisible stars.

Mere hours later, the daimyo's castle burned down. From the entrance to Jabba's workshop, Anakin watched dark smoke billow in the air. Anakin didn't need to rely on his sixth sense or intuition to know this was bad news.

<<<<>>>>

Revolutions had one major shortcoming. After the dust had settled, the Daimyo's rule was shaky, and the Hutts had only needed the suggestion of instability to send an heir.

The new Daimyo lacked legitimacy, and Mos Espa's mayor was too keen to accept bags with credits and glitter stim.

They were free men, but the past was not yet buried under the sand. The thin scar hidden under Anakin's curls tingled as he considered his fate. He wouldn't let anyone chip him again, but he wasn't sure he could explode more heads either. Would the rebellion show up in his empty workshop, expecting Anakin to perform another miracle -- another public execution?

Anxiety rose, churning in his stomach, which couldn't digest his nerves.

A notification on the datapad clutched in his arms made him jolt and spin on his heels, his gaze sweeping through the empty workplace. His breathing had turned erratic, echoing in the empty space as he confirmed no one had ambushed him. He was still alone.

He always was, so this shouldn't surprise Anakin.

During the time he had held onto the datapad, no one had tried to contact him. Hesitantly, he lowered the datapad to look at the screen. He navigated to the messaging app with trembling fingers, scoffing when he noticed the tremors running through his fingers.

He wasn't a coward.

Yet, he couldn't stop glancing over his shoulder or slow his fluttering heartbeat. His palms were clammy with a cold sweat. After a shaky sigh that failed to expel his nerves, he opened the messaging app, blinking at the unread message.

It was Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan had contacted him, and Anakin's heart shouldn't skip a beat instinctively. He should scowl at his datapad instead of fighting an overjoyed smile.

[Are you alright, Anakin? News of an uprising has reached us.]

Although sorely tempted to respond, Anakin wasn't desperate. Instead, he stared at the message, ridiculously flattered that Obi-Wan thought of him. Maybe Obi-Wan was only worried that Anakin turned the uprising bloody, but the reason was irrelevant. Since Obi-Wan haunted Anakin's thoughts, it was only fair that the inverse rang true, too.

A second message arrived an hour later.

[Could you confirm you are safe, Anakin?]

Obi-Wan's messages were sent out of concern. It shouldn't be so gratifying to read and ignore these messages.

[Anakin.]

Oh, Obi-Wan liked to use punctuation, and though Anakin was sorely tempted to rib him, he didn't respond. He gloated over the three messages, oh-so-pleased that Obi-Wan worried about him.

As night fell, the fighting continued, the horizon ablaze with the light of explosions and fire. Obi-Wan didn't reach out again until the crack of dawn. The fighting hadn't slowed. Instead, the different parties had entrenched themselves in the city. The fighting was so nearby that the workshop rocked with each explosion, the ceiling raining dust.

[I can only assume you are in grave danger when you don't respond, Anakin. I will be forced to act accordingly.]

"Act accordingly?" Anakin mocked, rolling his eyes. Well, he would like to see it happen.

<<<<>>>>

He had had to evacuate. After spending half a lifetime in the workshop, he was reluctant to leave. He had only taken Obi-Wan's datapad with him as he escaped with the other people who lived in the neighborhood. Explosions had laid waste to the buildings, and Anakin knew there was nothing to return to.

Yet, that was the least of his concerns when people looked.

They stared, their animosity making Anakin's sixth sense prickle uncomfortably. They blamed him, he knew. People looked at him, and they saw the symbol of the insurgency. Although the rebellion had sidelined Anakin as soon as the fighting was over, he was still the face of a bloody uprising.

It didn't matter that Anakin wasn't involved in this second fight. All these people knew was that someone was to blame for their homes imploding under the weight of a bloody rebellion for freedom. And it was Anakin Skywalker.

Because he had always been creepy. A little too different, but still so arrogant. Wasn't the Skywalker boy always begging for trouble? He was a monster. A murderer.

They were led to an evacuation zone outside the city. Some people had packed a few belongings. Most, however, only had the clothes on their back, Anakin included. He sat in the sand near the edge, a safe distance away from everyone else. The intensity of their stares unsettled him, and he knew he wouldn't be welcome.

Anxiously, he patted the datapad in his lap, wishing Obi-Wan would send more messages.

<<<<>>>>

As hunger, thirst, exhaustion, and desperation grew among the group, their combined despair pressed on Anakin. He could taste their resentment. Apprehension filled him and made him hyper-aware that the brunt of their anger had turned to him. It was too volatile, filling the air with static.

Although he had considered sneaking away multiple times, he didn't know where to go. Despair sank its claws into Anakin as he watched families and groups of friends huddle close together. Jealousy made his stomach churn and bile rise in his throat.

He was lonely and scared, unsure of his position here. Anakin wished he had someone to turn to, someone who would sit with him. Maybe he wouldn't feel so vulnerable with someone by his side. His mind curled into a little ball to protect itself from the continuous onslaught of hostility.

Thus, he didn't notice the sunlight immediately. Only as warmth soaked into his soul did he perk up, lowering his defenses. The warm sunlight grew brilliant, yet still muted -- like a blinding sun tempered by the fabric of an awning. Anakin's shoulders relaxed.

The light was gentle and oh-so-welcoming. Anakin's mind surged to it, wallowing in this new presence, finding peace and tranquility. The warm light shied away briefly, sending its shock through Anakin. Then, the warmth let him in, surrounding him in a feather-light hug.

A soft sigh fell from Anakin's slack lips. His eyes fell shut automatically as he retreated further into his mind than he had ever gone to hide in the golden sunlight.

A shadow fell over him, blocking the scorching binary suns. Trapped in his mind and unwilling to leave, Anakin's eyelashes were heavy. They resisted the motion as Anakin opened them a crack. A disgruntled, lazy hum escaped him.

Then, he froze, except for his eyes, which went wide.

"Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan loomed over him, his expression stern.

"I worried for you," Obi-Wan told him, his voice sharp and accusatory. "Typically, people respond to messages, Anakin. Especially, when there is reason to suspect that you may be hurt."

"Are you lecturing me?" Anakin asked, sounding embarrassingly breathless and disoriented. Why was Obi-Wan here? Shouldn't he be busy doing important Jedi business rather than Anakin -- visiting Anakin, he amended. Though the former would also be welcome, Obi-Wan's betrayal notwithstanding. He shouldn't melt too easily. Or at least, he couldn't show Obi-Wan too early.

His thoughts still raced, but they had gone down a different track. Anakin was no longer anxious.

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose before sighing deeply.

"My apologies," he muttered. "I'm just exasperated to find you in good health. Certainly healthy enough to respond to your messages."

"How can you be certain?" Anakin asked, aiming for indifference but landing on petulance.

Obi-Wan blinked. Then, his gaze sharpened as he studied Anakin.

"Are you injured?"

"Well, no, but I could be."

"Ah-nakin."

Anakin didn't think he deserved that much aggrieved, tired exasperation.

"I'm just saying," he said with an offhanded shrug.

It was funny how at ease he felt after Obi-Wan had joined him. He knew people still glowered at him, but their animosity wasn't perceptible when he basked in Obi-Wan's warmth. He burrowed deeper in Obi-Wan's mind, who created space for him.

"I understand why you didn't respond to my messages, Anakin."

There was a part of Anakin that had already realized Obi-Wan hadn't called him 'dear' once. And he had wondered if the term of endearment was part of the deception, too. It made him feel oh-so-foolish for gloating over being special to someone when it was just a lie.

Yet, it was Obi-Wan's observation that cut worse. So, Obi-Wan knew him? Meanwhile, Anakin knew nothing; everything was a lie.

"Do you?" he asked, his voice harsh and defensive.

He tried to retreat from Obi-Wan's mind, but the consistency turned syrupy. The temptation to give in and drift in Obi-Wan's hold was near irresistible. Comfort was so rare on Tatooine, after all. Yet, Anakin's dignity wouldn't allow it.

"You're keeping me..." his reedy voice trailed off.

Obi-Wan startled. "Oh," he said, sounding surprised. "I didn't realize."

The hold on Anakin's mind shifted. The sticky quicksand turned into two hands keeping Anakin's soul in their cupped palms. An invisible thumb stroked over his soul in an affectionate gesture. A squeak was forced from Anakin's throat.

Then, his soul was put on its metaphorical feet incredibly gently before Obi-Wan released him. Obi-Wan handled his mind like it was a small, delicate animal that would break if handled even vaguely roughly. Slowly, Obi-Wan's mind pulled away with a final brush that made Anakin regret lashing out.

Sullenly, he glowered at Obi-Wan, missing the peace and tranquility he had found languishing in Obi-Wan's soul, more connected to another being than he ever had in his life.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "Well," he said, then pausing immediately. "As I said," he continued. But his voice trailed off like he didn't remember.

"You knew exactly why I didn't respond," Anakin helped him, secretly enjoying Obi-Wan's flustered floundering.

"Right, yes, thank you, dear."

Oh, he was dear again. Anakin gloated, but he kept his expression sullen -- poorly. Obi-Wan remained serious despite likely suspecting he had already gained Anakin's forgiveness.

"So?"

Obi-Wan sighed. Anakin's heart stopped beating when Obi-Wan knelt in the sand. Thickly, he swallowed, intimidated by the proximity. Time stopped running while Anakin waited.

"I betrayed your trust and hurt you. I obfuscated so many truths that it doesn't matter that I never lied. It wasn't my intention to tell you as much as I did, which doesn't change the fact that I barely said anything. So, what reason do you have to believe that I didn't lie?"

Obi-Wan reached into a pouch hanging from his utility belt. Briefly, Anakin's attention snagged on the openly worn lightsaber clipped next to the pouch.

Jedi Master and High General.

Someone so important -- someone crucial to the running of the entire galaxy -- knelt in front of Anakin. The surrealism and absurdity of the situation struck Anakin as amusing, but he couldn't laugh when his guts were twisted into knots. Anticipation pulled them tighter.

Obi-Wan withdrew a CPU from the pouch.

"Oh," Anakin gasped, his surprise forcing the noise from his lungs.

Obi-Wan looked contrite or embarrassed as he presented the CPU to Anakin. Of course, Anakin recognized the CPU. He had placed it in the datapad resting in his lap once. Slowly, he reached for the CPU on Obi-Wan's palm, giving Obi-Wan the opportunity to snatch his hand back.

Obi-Wan didn't move, allowing Anakin's fingers to wrap around the CPU.

Then, he smiled, which was so utterly unfair. Anakin's heart stuttered.

"I'm sorry for deceiving you. I'm sorry for ignoring your request to leave you in peace. I'm so sorry for hurting you."

Anakin listened breathlessly. People weren't typically sorry for him, and he didn't know how to react.

"I couldn't resist returning," Obi-Wan confessed. "Knowing you were in danger, I couldn't stay away. I only planned to confirm you were fine."

"So, you will leave me again?"

Anakin didn't intend to let his hurt show in his voice.

"No, dear. No, not at all," Obi-Wan argued. "Never."

Obi-Wan smiled winningly, and Anakin realized he didn't stand a chance. Already, he had forgiven Obi-Wan, waiting eagerly for what Obi-Wan would say. He squirreled each term of endearment away, hiding it in his heart like treasure. He loved Obi-Wan, and it would be his undoing because Anakin Skywalker was a nobody while Obi-Wan was important.

"In fact, I hoped you would accompany me to Coruscant instead. There's a... an issue that would benefit from your assistance."

Anakin couldn't help his disappointment. He had hoped Obi-Wan would be personally invested in inviting him.

"What issue?" he asked, hoping Obi-Wan wouldn't detect the sullen tone in his voice.

"I can't forget you, and it drives me to distraction," Obi-Wan said.

That was the corniest thing Anakin had ever heard. He should roll his eyes. Instead, he couldn't help smiling, encouraging Obi-Wan.

"It would greatly reassure me," Obi-Wan continued.

"I suppose I don't have a house anymore anyway," Anakin said. "Okay. Let's go."

"You will join me?" Obi-Wan asked, sounding dumbstruck by Anakin's response.

"Yes. I've never flown a spaceship. You have one, right? As important Jedi and all. Can I fly it?"

"Anakin, I can't let you fly without a license in good conscience."

"No one needs to know," Anakin dismissed his concerns.

He lifted to his feet to head in the direction Obi-Wan had come from. Obi-Wan followed him closely.

"While I admire your willingness to try new things, I think we should review the traffic regulations first, dear."

"That sounds boring."

"Anakin!"

As they left the evacuation zone, Anakin glanced over his shoulder. No one looked in his direction. How odd. He had thought everyone looked at him, judging him. With Obi-Wan's warm presence by his side, his unruly sixth sense couldn't even tell the general mood anymore.

"Fine. For a little bit while we're in hyperspace," Obi-Wan relented.

Anakin grinned triumphantly.

#obikin #obikin fanfic #oneshot #ao3 fanfic

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