Event Horizon
Chapter Ten: Truth
Chapter WC: 8,808
Chapter Tags/Warnings: none
A/N: Checked the wordcount on the completed chapters doc today and it's over 100k already?? anyway the next few chapters are for real my fav. i live for the drama
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Coruscant, 21 BBY
"I can't believe they gave me Archive duty," Ahsoka groans, rolling her eyes.
You smirk, turning the page of the dusty tomb lying in front of you. You had managed to escape the ire of the Council thanks to Obi-Wan, but Ahsoka was not so lucky. She was sentenced to "volunteer work" at the Temple Archives indefinitely, a punishment that she seemed to take very personally.
You had offered to keep her company while you were still recovering, and you had to admit, when you weren’t forced to be here, it was kind of fun. There was something calming about the Archives, the smell of old paper and leather, the dim light, the quiet.
You'd spent more time here than most other Jedi, and even though the work was often tedious, it was something you found peace in. Ahsoka didn't seem to feel the same.
"It's not that bad," you say, your eyes scanning the page. "Besides, if you hadn't disobeyed Anakin, this wouldn't have happened."
"Well, maybe, if he hadn't given the order in the first place—"
"Ahsoka."
"I know, I know," she sighs, her shoulders slumping. She pushes the crate she was organizing to the side and collapses on a nearby bench, her arms crossed. "He's just...so frustrating sometimes."
"Yeah," you chuckle. “He is.”
“Did you ever feel that way about Master Yaddle?"
"Sometimes," you reply. You glance up from your reading and smile at her. "But I’m sure I frustrated her much more. I’m still not sure why she took me as her Padawan, honestly."
"Because you're a great Jedi," Ahsoka points out. She grins and leans forward, her chin resting on her hands. "And, because, despite what you say, you're actually pretty nice."
"Nice?"
"Yeah," she laughs. "You're one of the few Jedi I can talk to about things. You listen. Not everyone does."
"You could talk to Master Plo, or Anakin, or even Obi-Wan," you say, closing the book. You look at her, a frown on your face. "There's a lot more Jedi in the Temple."
"I know, but..." Her voice trails off, and her expression grows sad, the humor fading. “You’re the only one who’s not trying to teach me some kind of lesson. Who isn’t expecting something from me. You don't care that I'm young, or that I'm not a real Jedi yet, or—"
"You are a real Jedi," you interrupt. You stand and walk over to her, taking a seat beside her, your hands resting on your knees. "Don't ever doubt that. I don't. I know how strong you are, and I know what you're capable of. And, so does Anakin. Don't let this one mistake define you."
She sighs and rests her elbows on her thighs, her chin cupped in her palms. "I know, but it's hard," she says quietly. "Everyone has an opinion, and they're all just waiting for me to mess up again. To prove that I'm not fit to be a Jedi."
"That's not true," you tell her. "The Council might be a little disappointed with your actions, but no one doubts that you belong here, Ahsoka. No one."
She doesn't respond.
You watch her carefully, your brow furrowed. It isn’t lost on you how similar her words are to your own internal monologue, and how often she mirrors your own thoughts and fears. She’s just a kid, and you remember being her age, the pressure, the weight of expectation, and the struggle to be enough.
While you doubt you’ll ever feel like you measure up, or will ever stop feeling like an outsider, you know, deep down, that no matter what happens, the Order is where you belong. You belong with the Jedi. There is no other place for you than here.
"If it makes you feel any better," you say, trying to lighten the mood. You nudge her shoulder. “You’re only continuing the tradition of disobedience set by your Masters before you. Anakin, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon—“ you pause and let out a sharp breath before continuing “—and his master have all done their time here. Practically a rite of passage, I’d say.”
She rolls her eyes and nudges you back. "You're not funny."
"Sure I am."
“You can’t honestly expect me to believe Master Kenobi ever had to do this," she scoffs. "I mean, he's like, the perfect Jedi."
"Ha! Well, I guess you'd be surprised."
You smirk, remembering the many times Obi-Wan had come to your aid during your years as younglings, covering for you and, often, getting himself into just as much trouble as you.
It was always Obi-Wan, with his clever words and quick wit, who got the two of you out of hot water, and you always found it amusing how no one seemed to realize it was him who had started the whole thing. It was like people couldn’t see past the image they had of him, or their assumptions, and it made him the perfect accomplice.
"We caused plenty of chaos back in the day,” you add with a fond smile. "I can't even begin to tell you all the stories I could share. I have years worth of them."
"Oh really?"
"Yep," you confirm. "Obi-Wan was a terror."
Ahsoka snorts and raises an eyebrow. "Now I know you're lying."
"It's true. He was a troublemaker. Still is, if I'm being honest,” you laugh. "We were the worst influences on each other. That's probably why we became such good friends."
"I can't imagine Master Obi-Wan doing anything even close to disobeying the rules," Ahsoka says. She leans forward, her chin in her palms, a mischievous grin on her face. You smile back and cross your legs, settling into the bench. "I'm going to need proof, or a story. Either will do."
"What do you want to hear?"
"Something crazy," she prompts. "Something he would never tell me. Something wild. And then I'll believe it."
You chuckle and lean back against the wall, your eyes drifting, the memories filling your mind. You could think of a hundred different tales, many of them far too embarrassing to repeat, and most of them you doubted would be appropriate to tell an impressionable teenager. You were not the best storyteller, but if Ahsoka wanted entertainment, you could oblige. If only a little.
"Okay, okay, let's see..." you muse, thinking. "Okay, here's one. When I was thirteen years old, Obi-Wan was a newly made Padawan, and I was still a youngling. One day, we had a day off from training, and, well, let's just say, we weren't exactly sticking around the Temple."
"Where did you go?"
"Well, Obi-Wan had heard about this place," you continue, smiling. "Apparently, there was this abandoned warehouse deep in the lower levels, converted it into a kind of club. It was the coolest thing we had ever seen, and we were determined to get in. Only problem was, we were a bit too young. Not that that stopped us. We had been going to this club, sneaking out, for about a week, before a member of the Jedi Council caught us."
"Which one?"
"Master Plo, actually,” you say, a smirk tugging at your lips. "We got lucky. I think he was more impressed than upset."
Ahsoka lets out a snort and covers her mouth. "No."
"Yes," you insist. "He caught us sneaking out of the Temple and followed us. We made it all the way to the warehouse before we realized he was right behind us."
"How did you get away with it?"
"We didn't," you chuckle. "I think we had a few choice words with the Council that night. But we got to go back to the club a few more times before we were caught again. Obi-Wan managed to get himself banned a few months later, though. Something about trying to fight a guy over a girl."
You look away, biting your cheek. Ahsoka didn't need to know that you were the girl. That it was the first, and the only time that the two of you had kissed. You were both so young, and it was nothing more than a childish attempt at romance. It was a bittersweet memory, tinged with a touch of guilt, and you had long ago buried it.
"I'll have to ask him about that," she teases. "I bet there's a lot more stories he'd never tell me."
"You can try," you challenge. "Good luck."
"What was he like?" Ahsoka asks. She shifts on the bench, turning her body toward you, her eyes sparkling. "Before he was a Knight, or a Master, or...all that. What was he like back then?"
"He was different," you tell her. You hesitate, your brow furrowing, and you shrug. "He was...happier. More carefree. He didn't take things as seriously as he does now."
"He's still pretty carefree," Ahsoka points out. She tilts her head, her gaze growing thoughtful, and a small frown tugs at her lips. "I've never really seen him angry, or upset. Except for when you were in the bacta tank."
You pause. You hadn't thought much about Obi-Wan while you were recovering. Your mind had been a bit preoccupied with other matters, but now, looking back, you had noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and the tension in his shoulders, and the way his jaw clenched every time someone brought up the battle. It had only been a week since your return, and yet, he seemed to have aged ten years, and the worry was still plain on his face.
Even now, there was still a distance, a coldness, between the two of you. He hadn't been by the Healers Ward again, and he'd avoided you at the debriefing with the Council even though he'd spoken in your favor.
"He was worried," you say simply. You glance down at your hands and twist your fingers, swallowing the sudden tightness in your throat.
"I’m sure you’ve noticed that we share a bond. Something like a Master and Padawan bond. It's stronger, because we were raised together, and because our abilities complement each other, and, well, because we've spent our whole lives together."
"What is it like?" she asks. Her eyes are wide, and she's listening intently, her attention focused on you. "Having a bond with someone? Does it hurt?"
"Sometimes," you confess. You let out a heavy sigh, and you look down, your expression troubled. "When the other person is in danger, or suffering, it can be difficult to deal with. And, sometimes, it can be overwhelming. Obi-Wan is quite skilled at shielding, but...I’m not so fortunate. I’m sure feeling my pain was not easy for him."
It’s an excuse, and you know it. But the truth was much harder to admit. Obi-Wan being upset enough at your injuries that Ahsoka had picked up on it was an uncomfortable thought. The reality of how deeply you had hurt him, and the fact that you hadn’t even considered how he would feel, was not something you were prepared to deal with. Not right now. Perhaps not ever.
"You're close," she comments, her voice soft. She hesitates, and she gives you a sad smile, her eyes searching yours. "I...I don't have a bond with Anakin. Not like you and Master Kenobi. I've always wondered what it would be like."
"It's strange," you reply slowly. You shrug and give her a rueful smile. "It’s been this way for so long, and I just...I don't know. I don't know what it's like not to have it. The closest we ever came to losing it completely was after..."
You trail off, your smile fading, and you turn away, unable to meet her eyes. "After the Naboo incident. Things were never the same, after that."
Ahsoka doesn't say anything.
You can't blame her. You don't have the words. There's so much left unsaid, so much you could tell her, but you know you won't. It's not the right time. Perhaps it will never be the right time. And so, instead, you change the subject, pushing the pain and the regret away, burying it under the weight of a smile.
"What else do you want to know?"
Ahsoka's gaze grows thoughtful, and she leans back, resting her head against the wall, her brow furrowed. She looks up, and her lips purse, her fingers tapping against her thighs.
Finally, she smiles, a wicked glint in her eyes. "What about Rex?"
Your eyes widen, and you can feel the color draining from your face, the shock making you speechless. You hadn't expected that question, and it takes a moment for you to regain your composure, your mind scrambling to think of a response. But Ahsoka doesn't wait.
Instead, she keeps talking, the grin growing. "Rex told Anakin that you had saved his life."
"Yes," you say cautiously. You frown, and you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. "And?"
"Well," she draws the word out, and she sits up, her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped. "Anakin said he'd never seen you act like that before."
You open your mouth to respond, and then close it, unsure of what to say.
"So," she presses. "Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Friends."
"Yes," you snap. "Of course we're friends. He's a friend. We're friends. Is that a problem?"
"No, no," she replies quickly. "Of course not."
"Good."
"But—"
"Ahsoka," you interrupt, and you let out a sharp breath, your fingers rubbing your temples. "There is no but. Rex is a friend. I saved his life. End of story."
"Sure," she agrees. Her expression is far too innocent, and you're not going to play into whatever she's thinking. You stand and return to the table, picking up the book, and Ahsoka follows, sitting down next to you. "I just thought, maybe, there was something else."
"Like what?"
"Oh, I don't know," she says, feigning nonchalance. She pulls another book off the pile and begins leafing through the pages, a casual, carefree tone to her voice. "He's been asking about you."
Your head snaps up, and you stare at her, the shock giving way to surprise, and then hope, the flutter in your chest returning. "He has?"
Realizing your mistake, you bite your cheek and look back down at the book, your heart pounding, and your throat suddenly dry. You swallow, and you try to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks,and the feeling in your chest.
Rex had been asking about you. He had talked to Anakin about you. Those were perfectly normal, innocent, things for him to do. Nothing strange. Nothing to indicate anything more.
"Mmhmm," Ahsoka hums, her eyes flicking up, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. She looks back down, the grin growing, and she nudges your shoulder. "He was worried the Council was going to punish you for saving him."
"That's it?"
"I'm not sure," she muses. She tilts her head, her fingers drumming against the book, her expression thoughtful. "He seemed pretty concerned. More than he normally is."
You shake your head and lean forward, pretending to be engrossed in the text.
"I'm sure he was just being polite," you mumble. You keep your eyes on the page, but your mind is elsewhere, and the words blur before your eyes. You force yourself to keep reading, not daring to look up. "I doubt he was all that worried."
"Hm," Ahsoka says.
You wait a few more moments, and then, when Ahsoka doesn't speak, you glance over at her. She's looking at you, her lips pursed, a knowing smile on her face. You stare at her, and she stares back, and finally, you roll your eyes, letting out a sigh.
"Fine," you grumble. You shut the book and shove it away, leaning back in the chair, your arms crossed. "We are friends, and I enjoy his company. Is that what you want to hear?"
Ahsoka shrugs and grins, and you can't help the smile tugging at your lips.
"He's a good person," she says. She's not looking at you anymore, but she's smiling, and you can tell she's holding back a laugh. "Very loyal."
"Yes, he is," you agree. You look away, a frown forming, and your voice drops. "And a good soldier."
There's a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, a heaviness, a sudden sadness that you hadn't expected. You're not sure what brought it on, but it's there, a reminder of the truth, of the reality. You swallow the lump in your throat, and you glance down, your fingers tracing the cover of the book, a strange numbness settling in.
"Yeah." Ahsoka looks at you, and her brow furrows, the teasing tone gone. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," you lie. You force a smile and shrug. "Everything's fine."
"You're sure?" she asks. She looks skeptical, her head tilted, and she frowns. "You look...upset."
"I'm not."
"You don't have to lie," she says. She shifts in her chair, and she turns to face you, her hand resting on your arm, her expression earnest. "If there's something wrong, you can tell me. I won't judge."
"I know," you reply softly. "But there's nothing to tell. I'm fine."
She doesn't believe you. You can tell by the way she's looking at you, her eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. Ahsoka doesn't press the issue, though, and you're grateful for that. You don't want to talk about it, and, honestly, you're not sure if you can. Or, if, when the words come out, they'll sound as stupid as they do in your head.
"Now," you say, and you push yourself up, grabbing a crate. You walk over to the other side of the room and begin sorting through the books, setting them on the shelves. "Let's get back to work."
"Ugh, not more sorting."
"It's your punishment," you point out. "Besides, I've had enough excitement for one day. I could use some boring, manual labor."
"I guess," Ahsoka mutters.
You laugh, and you return to your task, the quiet settling over the room. Ahsoka sighs and does the same, and the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in silence, only occasionally exchanging a few words.
The sun begins to set, and the shadows grow, and soon, the entire room is bathed in the orange glow of the sunset, the warmth filling the air. It's peaceful, and comfortable, and it's exactly what you need. No drama. No complications. No one trying to get into your head, or telling you how to live your life. It's the kind of solitude you haven't had in a long time, and, even if you can't enjoy it for long, it's a nice respite from the chaos.
You're not sure how much time has passed, or how long the two of you have been working, but the silence is broken when the door slides open. You turn and watch as Obi-Wan enters the room, a smile on his face, his hands tucked in his sleeves. He greets the both of you and comes to stand beside the table, his attention focused on you. His expression is serious, his eyes searching, and you avoid his gaze.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," he says, his voice polite, and his words carefully chosen. You can tell he's uncomfortable, and it makes you uneasy. "I was hoping I might have a word with you, if you're not too busy."
"Of course," you reply.
You look over at Ahsoka, who’s staring at the two of you, her gaze flicking between you, and she smirks, standing and grabbing the crate she had been organizing. "I'll give you some privacy."
"Thank you."
She leaves the room, leaving you and Obi-Wan alone, the quiet a heavy, uncomfortable, thing. You don't know what to say, or what to do, and it's an awkward few moments before he breaks the silence, clearing his throat, his hands moving to clasp behind his back.
"I was wondering how you were," he says. He takes a step toward you, and he hesitates, his eyes dropping. "I haven't seen much of you these past few days."
"Yes," you mumble. You cross your arms and shrug, avoiding his gaze. "I've been, um, busy. You know. Helping with the Archives. And healing."
"I see."
There's another pause.
"So," he says. "Are you feeling better? Has the Healers Ward released you yet?"
"They released me a few days ago," you tell him as you turn, walking over to the window, your fingers brushing along the ledge. "They were quite happy with my recovery. It didn't take long for me to heal."
"That's good."
"And, I feel fine," you add, turning to look at him. "I've been back in training for a few days now."
"Good."
"Good."
"Well," he says. He steps forward and stops, his hand on the back of a chair, his expression guarded. "I'm glad you're back on your feet."
"Yes," you murmur. "It's, uh, it's good to be back."
He gives you a curt nod, and you nod back, and then there's another long, agonizing, silence. You look at him, and he looks at you, and when it becomes too much, you turn away, your fingers tracing the window frame, the metal cool beneath your fingertips.
"You said you wanted to speak with me?" you ask the window.
"Yes."
You hear him take a deep breath, and when you look over your shoulder, he's staring at the floor, his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched. It's strange to see him so...distraught. So unsure of himself.
"I came to apologize," he says quietly. He crosses his arms, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "For my actions the other day. I was not myself, and I should not have acted as I did."
"Oh," you murmur.
"I was...wrong to have treated you as I did. You didn't deserve it. And I was out of line."
You let out a sigh and close your eyes. "Obi-Wan..."
"Please," he interrupts, and his tone is pleading, and it stops you. "I need to say this."
"Alright," you say. You move away from the window, and you lean against the table, your arms crossed and your brow furrowed. "Say what you need to."
"I was angry," he admits, and the words hang in the air, heavy and sharp. He pauses and takes a breath, and you can tell he's choosing his words carefully. "I was upset. You have no idea how much it hurt, seeing you like that. Lying there, unconscious. Not knowing if you would make it. I..."
He trails off, and he looks away, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"And I know," he continues. He looks back up, his eyes meeting yours, and you can't help but see the pain, the hurt, the desperation. "I know that you would do it again, if given the choice. And I can't blame you for it. But it doesn't make it any easier."
"Obi-Wan," you murmur. You can feel your eyes burning, and you swallow the sudden lump in your throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
"I know," he says. "I know."
"I wasn't thinking. I was acting on instinct, and—"
"I know," he repeats, his voice gentle. "It was not your fault. You did what was right, and, had it been anyone else, I would have been proud. You saved a life. That is something to be celebrated. But...you're not just anyone."
"I can't promise that I won't do it again," you tell him. "If the situation arises, I won't hesitate to save another soldier. Even if they're not a Jedi. Or a friend."
He smiles, a small, sad thing, and he nods.
"I wouldn't expect any less," he says. He steps toward you, and he takes your hand, squeezing gently. "It is, after all, one of the many reasons I admire you."
You can't help the smirk tugging at your lips. "Well, that, and dazzling personality and my good looks, right?"
"Among others," he teases. His expression grows solemn, and he glances down, his thumb running over your knuckles. "I'm sorry. For everything. I'm sure the last thing you need is for me to be acting as I was."
"Well, with the amount of tantrums Anakin and I have thrown over the years, it's only fair that you get to have one every once in a while."
Obi-Wan grimaces and shakes his head "Please, don't remind me."
"You're not still mad, are you?" you ask. He tilts his head, a faint frown pulling at his lips. "I mean, you're not going to lecture me again, are you?"
"No," he replies, his tone wry. "Not today."
"Good."
"You're not completely forgiven, though."
"What?"
"I'm afraid that, if we're ever in a similar situation," he continues, his voice casual, his eyes narrowing, "and if you ever make me think you're dying again, I will be forced to have a very stern conversation with you."
You roll your eyes. "Obi-Wan..."
"I mean it," he insists. "I'll have no choice."
"Well," you drawl. You pull your hand free and push yourself away from the table, crossing your arms. "If I die, and you feel the need to lecture my corpse, by all means, go right ahead. I won't stop you."
He gives you a flat look, and you hold back a smile, raising an eyebrow.
"We'll see," he says finally. His lips twitch, and he sighs, rubbing his forehead. "In all seriousness, though, I am sorry. For everything. I was unfair, and I shouldn't have blamed you. I shouldn't have taken out my anger on you."
"No," you agree softly. "You shouldn't have."
"I know," he sighs. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching out to grasp your elbow, his touch gentle. "I don't want us to be like this. We've fought enough over the years. I want you to know that I trust you, and despite my fears, and the concerns I have, I will always support you. Whatever decisions you make."
You let out a breath, and his hand moves, sliding up your arm, coming to rest on the back of your neck. He gives you a smile, and there's a flicker of regret and sorrow before he pulls you forward, his forehead resting against yours. His grip tightens, and you put your hands on his waist, holding onto him.
"Thank you," you whisper.
"I'll always be here for you," he says softly. "Whenever you need me."
You smile and lift your chin, brushing your lips across his cheek, a fleeting, brief, touch. "And I'll always be here for you. Whatever you need."
He chuckles and squeezes your neck, his breath warm on your skin. "I appreciate the sentiment."
"Now," you murmur, and you pull away, your hands moving to rest on his chest. "What I really need right now is a stiff drink."
He raises an eyebrow. "That is not what you need right now."
"But it would help," you insist. "A lot."
"No."
"C'mon," you beg, your hands curling in the fabric of his tunic. You give him a pout, and he groans, his eyes closing. "It'll be fun. Just like old times."
"You are not getting me into any more trouble than I'm already in," he says. He pulls your hands off of him, and he holds them in his, a stern look on his face. "The Council has already spoken to me about your reckless behavior. I'd prefer not to give them more reason to doubt me."
"They won't know," you promise. You squeeze his hands, your eyes bright. "We'll be careful."
"You don't know how to be careful."
"Then teach me," you counter, a smirk playing on your lips.
He lets out a sigh, and his brow furrows, his mouth twisting. You can see the temptation in his eyes, the desire to give in, and it's only a matter of time before you convince him. He hesitates, glancing over at the door. "It is late. Most people should be gone by now."
"See?" you say. "Easy. Quick drink. No one will see."
"Fine," he concedes. "But we will not be staying long."
"Thank you."
You release his hands and step back, your fingers lacing together, your grin widening. Obi-Wan gives you an exasperated look and gestures for you to go, and you laugh and start to back away.
"I'll meet you at the usual place," you tell him. You turn and head for the door, calling over your shoulder. "Don't keep me waiting."
"Wouldn't dream of it!" he calls out, his tone amused. "Just...don't get us caught."
"Never," you promise.
You're through the door and gone before he can say anything else, and the moment you're alone, you take a deep breath and run a hand through your hair. It's not until you're nearly to your quarters that the nerves begin to settle in, and the excitement gives way to apprehension, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.
You're still a bit wary of Obi-Wan's sudden change in mood. It's unlike him to act like he did, and to be so openly hostile. And, as much as you'd like to believe that everything is alright, that things were fine, there was still something gnawing at the back of your mind.
The look on his face when you told him how you saved Rex's life was burned into your memory. You couldn't help but be reminded of how he looked at you the day after your knighting, when you'd told him your plan to find Yaddle's killer, and he'd treated you like a child.
It was the same, the same disdain and anger, the same look of disappointment, and the same, cold, distance. The only difference was, this time, you hadn't done anything wrong. You had saved a life. There was nothing for him to be disappointed about.
But the look was there, the same unspoken accusation. And it stung.
It’s only then that you realize he’d neglected to let his walls down during the conversation. There had been no opening, no chance to see into his mind. No moment of vulnerability. You hadn’t noticed, and now, you couldn’t understand why. It didn't make sense.
Obi-Wan had never kept his thoughts and feelings hidden from you before. He had never been afraid to show his emotions, or his pain. It was always you who'd had trouble with it, who'd struggled with letting him see the truth. He was the one who always opened up.
And now, he wasn't.
You shake the thought from your mind and continue on, ignoring the unease growing in your chest. He'd apologized then, and he apologized now, and he meant it. You didn't need the Force to know that. And he'd agreed to sneak out with you, which was more than he would have done if he was truly upset with you.
You would have a nice evening, and nothing else would happen. And tomorrow, the two of you would move on. Everything would go back to normal.
You reach your quarters, and you let yourself in, making a beeline for the fresher. You don't waste any time and strip out of your robes, stepping under the hot spray, and you wash quickly, rinsing the day's grime and sweat off. The water cascades down your body, washing the tension away, the warmth enveloping you, and for the first time in days, you can breathe, the knot in your chest loosening.
Once you're finished, you dry yourself and step back into the room, rummaging through the pile of clothes haphazardly thrown in your dresser. You pull out a simple shirt and a pair of pants, and you dress, slipping on a pair of boots and a cropped leather jacket. It's been too long since you've dressed so casually, and it feels odd, like you're not yourself. But, it's also a refreshing change from stifling robes.
You comb your hair, pulling the wet strands back into a loose braid, and you're ready. You check the time and grab a few credits from the dresser, shoving them into your pocket, and you're out the door.
You arrive at the bar a short while later, and you spot Obi-Wan sitting in the corner, a glass in his hand and his attention on the crowd. He sees you and smiles, and you make your way through the room, the noise and the heat hitting you. He's wearing civilian clothes, his hair loose around his face, his beard trimmed, and he looks almost relaxed. Almost.
You reach the table and slide into the seat across from him, his gaze appraising. You can't help but blush, and you cross your arms, giving him a look.
"What?" you ask.
"Nothing," he replies. His eyes linger on yours for a moment longer, and then they trail over the rest of your body, his lips quirking. "It's just been a while since I've seen you like this. It's...refreshing."
"Well," you say, leaning forward. You lower your voice, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "I wouldn't want to draw any attention to myself."
He chuckles, and his eyes sparkle with amusement, a glint of something else in their depths. "I appreciate the effort."
You smile and reach over, plucking his glass from his hand. He doesn't protest, and you take a sip, the liquor burning as it goes down. You set the glass back on the table, and his gaze lingers, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. You raise an eyebrow and stare at him, and he shakes his head, pushing himself up.
"I'm going to get another drink," he says. He nods his head towards the bar. "Would you like one?"
"Yes, please."
"I'll be right back."
He leaves, and you watch him walk away, and the moment he's out of earshot, you groan, the realization of what you'd done, and where you were, setting in. It was bad enough that the two of you had snuck off to a cantina together, and were dressed like this, but it was even worse that it felt...odd. Strange. And you weren't sure why. It was the same as every other time you'd met him for drinks, and yet, it wasn't.
There was something different. Something...off. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but it was there, and it made you uneasy. Like the calm before a storm.
"Hey," someone says.
You turn and see a man standing next to the table, a bottle of something in his hand, his smile friendly. You can't help the sigh that escapes you. It was going to be one of those nights.
"Hey," you reply. Your eyes drop, and you frown, the words on the bottle blurring. It's some sort of liquor, and a cheap one at that. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I'm hoping I could buy a beautiful woman a drink," he says. He sets the bottle down and pulls out the chair, sitting. You glance around the room, looking for Obi-Wan. There's no sign of him. "And, maybe, have a chat. Get to know each other."
"Look," you begin, and your voice is strained, the exhaustion starting to creep in. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not—"
"C'mon," he insists. He grabs the bottle and opens it, pouring a shot. He pushes it towards you, a grin on his face. "Just one drink."
"No, thank you."
“You won’t regret it.”
“No.”
"One drink," he repeats. He lifts the glass and nods, and when you don't move, his smile fades. "Don't be rude."
"Oh, I'm being rude?" you snap. You stand, and you tower over him, your hand on the table. He stares up at you, his mouth hanging open. "I've had a long week, and I'm not in the mood. Now, leave me alone."
"Alright, alright," he mutters. He stands and picks up the bottle, backing away. "You don't have to get so upset."
You don't reply, and he turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd. You let out a breath and slump back into the chair, rubbing your forehead. It's not long before you're joined again, but this time, it's Obi-Wan who slides into the seat, a bottle and two glasses in his hand. He notices the look on your face, and he raises an eyebrow.
"Another admirer?"
"Yes," you mutter. You take the glass he offers and down it, and he stares at you, concern flickering across his features. "I guess I'm not used to the attention anymore."
"Hm," he hums. He takes the glass from you and refills it, his brow furrowing. "You shouldn't be out here like this. You're too..."
"What?"
"I just..." he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He looks down and frowns. "I worry."
"Obi-Wan, I'm not made of glass," you snap. "And I'm not some defenseless child. I'm not going to shatter because some idiot tries to hit on me."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
He looks at you, and he sighs, his eyes searching yours. He opens his mouth to speak, and you brace yourself for whatever he's going to say, knowing that it's going to be a lecture, or a reminder of why you shouldn't be out here. Of why you shouldn't be with him. That it's not safe. That it's a risk.
But, he doesn't say any of those things. Instead, his eyes drop, and his jaw clenches, and when he finally speaks, it's a whisper, the words soft and gentle.
"You're a beautiful woman. A powerful, intelligent, wonderful, woman," he says. He looks at you, his expression open, and you can't help the way your heart leaps into your throat. "You have an air of confidence and determination, and...you're breathtaking. It's impossible not to notice you. Especially here."
You gape at him, and his lips twitch, his eyes darkening, a hint of mischief in his gaze. "I can't blame him for trying. I would, too, if I were him."
You can feel the heat spreading across your cheeks, the flush creeping up your neck. He's always been honest with you, and open, but this is different. He's never said anything like this before. You feel yourself scrambling, trying to regain your composure, and when you do, you let out a shaky laugh.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi," you say. You lean forward, your arms resting on the table, a smirk playing on your lips. "Is that jealousy I hear?"
"Not at all," he assures you, and the sincerity is almost believable. He leans closer, and his gaze drops, his voice low. "If anyone is jealous, it's him. He'll never have you. Not the way I do."
Your smirk widens, and you laugh, taking the bottle from his hand and pouring another shot. "Well, you have nothing to worry about. I'm here with you, aren't I?"
"Yes, you are."
You hold his gaze, and you down the shot, the alcohol burning. It's a dangerous game, and the both of you know it, and, as much as you want to keep pushing, and prodding, and testing his limits, you know better. It's best to let it go. It's best to move on. Besides, this was supposed to be fun.
"So," you say, pushing the bottle away, a small smile on your face. "Now that you're done worrying about me, can we finally have some fun? I didn't come here to sit and mope."
"Of course." He raises his glass and tilts his head. "To us."
"To us."
The rest of the evening is a blur. It passes in a haze of alcohol and laughter, the conversation turning to trivial things. There's no mention of the war, or Felucia, or the Council, and you're glad. You need a night off, and a break from everything, and you know Obi-Wan does too. The two of you have had so few chances to relax, and even fewer to spend time together.
You find yourselves falling back into the routine of years past, and, as the evening wears on, the two of you become more and more carefree. You're laughing and teasing, and Obi-Wan's telling stories about his adventures as a young padawan, and your memories of the past come flooding back. The times the two of you have snuck off, and the things you've done, and the trouble you've gotten into. And it's nice. Comforting. To be with him, and to enjoy his company. Even if you know it can't last.
You've managed to drag Obi-Wan out onto the balcony, and the two of you are leaning against the railing, watching the people below, the wind ruffling your hair. You can feel his warmth, and his arm is pressing into yours, and the alcohol has left a pleasant buzz in your head. You're not quite drunk, but, judging by the flush in Obi-Wan's cheeks, he's further along than you are.
"I have a confession," he mutters. You raise an eyebrow, and he gives you a crooked smile. "I've missed this. Missed...us. Doing this. Being here."
"Yeah," you murmur. You glance at him, and he meets your gaze, his eyes bright. "I've missed this too."
"We should do it more often," he says. He reaches over and brushes a strand of hair from your cheek, his touch lingering, his thumb stroking your skin. "Spend time together. Outside the Temple."
"Obi-Wan."
"What?"
"Don't do this."
"I'm not doing anything," he counters. He turns to face you, his expression earnest, his voice soft. "I'm not saying that we should be together. Or that we should..." He trails off, and his eyes flick down, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. "But, I've missed this. And, I think you have too."
"Obi-Wan..." You let out a breath and run a hand through your hair, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "What's wrong with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're...different," you explain. You shrug and turn away, looking out over the city. "It's not just tonight. You've been acting strange for weeks. Ever since Felucia. I just..." You shake your head sigh, glancing over at him. "Are you sure you're alright? That everything is okay?"
"Yes," he replies, and the reply is quick, and curt, and too easy. You stare at him, and he shrugs, a frown tugging at his lips. "I'm fine."
"Are you?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You tell me," you snap. You turn and lean against the railing, crossing your arms, your glare hard. "Because, one minute, you're angry with me, and the next, you're...this. Tell me what's going on."
He holds your gaze for a moment, and then his eyes drop, his hand coming up to cover his face as a low groan escapes him.
"I don't know," he mutters. He takes a step closer and leans against the railing, his arm brushing against yours. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Obi-Wan..."
"I'm tired," he whispers. He looks over at you, his eyes sad, his voice hollow. "I'm tired of the war. I'm tired of the fighting. I'm tired of losing people. And...I'm tired of having to pretend."
"Pretend what?"
"Everything," he answers. His hand drops to the railing, his fingers curling around the metal, his grip tight. "Who I am. How I feel. What I'm thinking. What I want." He turns and looks at you, his eyes meeting yours, a flicker of emotion crossing his features. "What I want with you."
"And, how do you feel?" you ask softly. "What do you want with me?"
He swallows and turns away, his eyes focused on the skyline, and you can see the struggle in his face. He doesn't speak, and the silence grows heavy, and uncomfortable, and you let out a frustrated sigh.
"Obi-Wan—"
"I care for you. I have always cared for you. More than I should. More than is right."
He turns to face you, and there's a desperation in his eyes, and a longing, and you know where this is going. You know what he wants to say.
But, he doesn't. Instead, he sighs, his shoulders slumping, and he shakes his head.
"You mean the world to me, and I don't want to lose you."
"You're not going to lose me."
"You don't know that," he insists. He takes a step closer, and his hands are on your waist, his touch light, his gaze searching yours. "I'm not the only one who has changed."
"What are you talking about?"
"You're different, too," he says. His hands move, and they slide up your back, his thumbs brushing along your cheek. "The last few months have changed you. And I'm afraid of what will happen. What will change."
"Nothing's going to change," you promise, and your voice is low, and soft. "We're the same. We're just older. And wiser. And maybe a little more jaded. But, we're still the same. You're still the same man who was my first love, and I'm still the same girl who fell for him."
He smiles, a small, sad, thing, and he lets out a breath, his forehead resting against yours. Your eyes close, and your hands move to his chest, the fabric warm and soft beneath your fingers, his heart beating steadily beneath your palm.
The tension in his body melts away, and his touch is gentle, his thumb stroking your cheek. You can't help but press closer, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight.
"I don't know what I would do without you," he murmurs. He lets out a shaky breath, and you can feel him trembling, the weight of the world, the pain and the fear, bearing down on him. "If anything happened to you, if I lost you..."
"You're not going to lose me," you repeat. You reach up and cup his cheek, your thumb running over his stubble, his beard rough against your skin. "I promise."
Obi-Wan doesn't say anything. Instead, he lets out a quiet, strangled, noise, and his lips are on yours, soft and warm and familiar.
It's a desperate, needy, kiss, and it's all too easy to give in, to let yourself melt into him, his hands on your face and his mouth moving against yours. You haven't been kissed in years, and you haven't kissed him in even longer, and, despite your best efforts, you can't help but respond, your fingers sliding through his hair, a low moan escaping you.
His grip tightens, and his tongue is in your mouth, his body pressing against yours. You can't think, and you can't breathe, and you can feel his need, his desire, the emotions, raw and unguarded, spilling over. He's shaking, and his lips are insistent, and when he pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark.
The two of you stare at each other, the silence stretching between you, and the gravity of the situation hits you. You've been friends for years, and you've been lovers, and now, here you are, on the precipice, and you're teetering on the edge. One more step, and there's no going back. One more step, and everything will change.
A sinking stone settles in the pit of your stomach, the fog of alcohol fleeing, and a wave of regret and shame crashing down. You can't believe what you've done. How far you've fallen. And how easily. After all the years you've spent avoiding each other, and trying to be friends, and now, here you are.
"We shouldn't have done that," you whisper. You push him away and take a step back, and he reaches out, his hand on your elbow. "We shouldn't be doing this."
"You're right," he says. His hand falls, and he looks away, a frown tugging at his lips. "We shouldn't have."
Obi-Wan runs a hand through his hair, his eyes closing, and he lets out a long breath. When he looks at you again, the guilt and the sadness in his eyes is gone, replaced by resignation. He reaches over and gives your shoulder a squeeze, his tone gentle. "Come on, let's go home."
You nod, and he releases you, stepping back. You can't meet his gaze, and you turn, your eyes fixed on the ground, the two of you making your way across the balcony. He keeps his distance, and you keep yours, the silence between you tense and heavy.
You're both back in the Temple a short while later, and Obi-Wan leads you back to your room, his pace quick. He stops outside the door, and his eyes meet yours.
“Will you be alright?” he asks, his brows furrowed.
“Yes,” you mutter. You can't meet his gaze, and you fidget, your eyes on the floor.
He sighs and lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him.
"Look," he says softly. "I'm sorry."
"So am I," you say. "I...shouldn't have let that happen."
"It's not your fault," he assures you. His thumb brushes across your cheek, and he gives you a smile. "We both let it get out of hand."
"Still, we shouldn't have..."
"No," he agrees. His hand falls, and he steps back, his smile turning wry. "We definitely shouldn't have."
You manage a weak smile, and his eyes soften.
"I meant to say this before," he starts. "I didn't want to interrupt the moment. But, I meant it."
"Meant what?"
"What I said earlier," he clarifies. He clears his throat and looks down, his gaze fixed on his shoes, his words hesitant. "I...don't want to lose you. I don't think I could bear it. And...I'll do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen."
"You're not going to lose me," you promise. You smile and grab his hand, squeezing his fingers, your voice soft. "I'll always be here."
He squeezes back, his eyes soft. "I know you're still struggling with Master Yaddle's death, and everything that's happened, and, well, I'm here. It's not much, but my clearance can help. If there's something you need, if there's something that would aid you in your search, let me know. I'm not going to ask questions. Just...if there's anything that can give you closure, I'll get it for you."
"I appreciate the offer," you reply. "But, I don't think the Council would take too kindly to you helping me. Especially after what happened. They're probably going to be watching us both like hawks for a while."
"Right." He sighs.
"However," you continue. "I'd appreciate it if you could pull any records regarding the last few months she was alive. Missions. Debriefings. Anything."
"Consider it done," he promises.
"Thank you."
"Of course," he says. "Anything else?"
"Actually, yes," you say. "There is something else."
"Yes?"
You step forward and wrap your arms around him, hugging him, and he hugs you back, his cheek resting against your head. You hold him close, breathing in his scent, his warmth surrounding you, his arms tight around your waist. There's so much you want to say, and so many things you want to tell him, but none of it feels right. Not after what's happened, and the choices the two of you have made. And, for a moment, you just let yourself be, his heartbeat steady against your cheek, the rise and fall of his chest calming.
"I love you, you know that, right?" you say quietly as you pull away.
He chuckles and brushes a stray hair from your forehead. "Yes, I do."
"Good." You step back and turn toward your door, looking over your shoulder at him. "Now, go. Get some sleep."
"You too," he says, his lips quirking. You can't help but return his smile, and he turns, heading for his room. He glances over his shoulder, and he winks. "Good night, darling."
"Good night," you call out.
He vanishes around the corner, and you turn and open the door, stepping into your room. The door slides shut, and you're greeted by the empty, familiar, sight of your quarters. The walls are bare, the windows are uncovered, and the floors are cold. It's not a welcoming space, and it never has been, but tonight, the silence feels particularly loud. You're used to being alone, but, right now, the loneliness is almost overwhelming.
You're not sure why.
Or, perhaps, you don't want to admit why.
Either way, the ache in your chest is still there, the emptiness still lingers, and you know it's not just from the alcohol. You try to ignore the feeling, and instead you settle on the floor to meditate, focusing on the Force and letting the energy flow through you.
It doesn't work, and you know it won't. But, you have to try. The alternative is too much to bear. You sit for a few hours, your eyes closed, and your hands resting on your knees, until, eventually, sleep pulls you under.
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Made myself emotional over the “Leo and Donnie chose to be twins” headcanon.
———
“By the way, it’s Leo and Donnie’s birthday next Thursday. You’re coming, right?”
Draxum looked up from his work organizing next week’s lunch schedule to look at Michelangelo, sitting on the counter and swinging his feet. Celebrating individual birthdays wasn’t a thing that the yokai did, but Draxum had been forced to accept that the boys could not be dissuaded from this human tradition. He’d been to two birthday parties now, for Michelangelo and Raphael respectively, eating cake and presenting them with some small trinket he purchased.
He’d known that he would have to go to more birthday parties at some point. But he wasn’t expecting two at once.
“Why on the same day? I can’t imagine the blue one wanting to share.” Actually, he couldn’t imagine Donatello wanting to share, either.
“Oh,” said Michelangelo with a laugh. “That’s ‘cause they’re twins!”
Draxum stared at him. “Twins? What kind of nonsense is that?”
Mikey tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“They’re entirely different species, for starters,” Draxum pointed out.
“I mean, we all are, but we’re still brothers.”
“Yes, by virtue of your shared DNA donor and the circumstances of your raising.” Draxum waved that off. “But “twins” refers to a situation where two children are born at once, especially as the result of a split of a fertilized egg. Which is absolutely impossible in the case of Leonardo and Donatello. Even if I were to be charitable and simply consider them “twins” for having the same hatch day, I can tell you they do not.”
“Uh, okay,” said Michelangelo, unimpressed. “But they’ve always been twins, so I don’t think it matters to them.”
“Why not? I would think it would matter to Donatello especially, since he claims to be scientifically minded.”
Michelangelo laughed. “Not everything is about science, Barry. Not even to Donnie.”
“Then his decisions about when to apply science and when not to are inconsistent and confusing.”
“Well, it’s their birthday, so they get to pick.”
“I am certain that is not how birthdays work.”
“It’s how it works for us!” Michelangelo slipped off the counter. “We’ll see you on Thursday, right? It’ll mean a lot to them if you come!”
Draxum was fairly sure Leonardo in particular would prefer he didn’t, but that didn’t matter. Now he had a mission: he had to correct this strange incongruence.
“Yes, I will be there.”
“Yay!” cheered Michelangelo. “Okay, see ya Dad!”
He squeezed Draxum around the waist on his way out. Draxum was finding he didn’t mind that as much as he used to.
———
Leonardo and Donatello’s party was just as loud and obnoxious as the other two. Blue and purple decorations covered every inch of the old subway station, strange music blared from unseen speakers, and a horrendous amount of junk food was spread out over a table. It was the same group of people present today as there ever was, the eclectic mix of humans and yokai that the boys considered family, but it felt like a crowd three times the size with the amount of noise being made.
Draxum stood off on his own for most of it, his slim birthday present already delivered to the table stacked with gifts. He’d been a little shocked when Donatello and then Leonardo came by to say hello, since he’d been prepared to be ignored by both of them. It was… nice, maybe, that they did that. Even if Leonardo just wanted to make jokes at his expense.
For most of the party, the two birthday boys seemed to be competing with each other for attention. In fact, the longer he took it all in, the whole affair seemed like a clash of ideas. The purple decorations were neat and tidy, geometric patterns and hard angles. The blue decorations were whimsical, uncoordinated, and haphazard, and there were places it seemed someone had deliberately covered up some of the purple with the blue. Leonardo wanted to play rock music and Donatello wanted to play techno. The cake was a mess because they’d both requested different themes for the decorations. There were arguments between the two of them every few minutes, and according to the human girl April this was “typical behavior.”
But why? They weren’t really twins. They didn’t have to share this day.
Hopefully Draxum’s plan would fix all this nonsense.
When it was time for gifts, Leonardo loudly declared that he was going first, sparking an argument. They squabbled for a bit before agreeing to play rock-paper-scissors, which was apparently what they did every year.
Leonardo won the game and celebrated obnoxiously while Donatello scowled at him. Then he gestured at the gift table - which Draxum, in his efforts to stay out of the main throng, was closest to.
“Hey, Barry! Grab me a gift! Make it a good one.”
Draxum sighed but reached over to take one of the blue packages, checking the tag to make sure it was for Leonardo. “This one is… to Leo from Donnie,” he read.
“Oh no, not that one. Our presents to each other are always last.”
“Because they always get sappy about it,” said April with a laugh.
“Do not!” yelled Leonardo at the same time Donatello hissed, “You take that back!”
“Uh, yeah you do, and you know I’m right.”
Draxum ignored the petty argument to look back at the gift table. If they weren’t going to be satisfied with his choice, he might as well give them his own gift.
He lifted it, in its sensible brown packaging, off the table and handed it over.
“Why not start with this? It’s to both of you from me.”
“Both of us at once?” asked Leonardo. “Oh man, you’re throwing off our whole system, Barry.”
“Yes, but he’s giving it to you,” Donatello pointed out, “which means my turn is still next.”
“Uh, no, if it’s for both of us then it counts for both of us, which means it comes back around to me!”
“Ooooh no, you do not get to loophole your way into opening two presents in a row-“
“Ahem!” Draxum loudly cleared his throat, getting their attention. “Would you please just open it?”
“Yikes,” said Leonardo. “Touchy.”
“Some people just don’t understand the sanctity of opening birthday gifts,” said Donatello with a sniff. But he leaned in to watch as Leonardo tore off the wrapping paper and opened the box.
They were both silent for a moment, staring at it. Then Leonardo said, “Uh, no offense, Barry, but what is this?”
“It’s a… scientific study on how twins are formed during the gestational period,” said Donatello, pulling the paper clipped thesis from the box. “Oh, there are more in here… Also about twins.”
“Uh…” Leonardo blinked at it, clearly bewildered. Well, he was always a bit slow. “Thanks…? I think?”
“Not that I don’t appreciate the scientific literature,” said Donatello, “but this isn’t really my area of study and Leo does better with training manuals and textbooks than research papers.” He looked up at Draxum. “Is there something about this we aren’t getting?”
“Yes there is,” said Draxum, sweeping his hand around at the entire party. “I am here to correct your mistaken assumption that you are twins.”
The room fell silent. Donatello set the paper back in the box, staring at him. Leonardo’s brow creased in anger.
“We are twins, though,” he said, setting the box aside like it was burning him.
“No, you are not. There is simply no way that the two of you could be twins. It is biologically impossible.”
“You think that I’m so stupid I don’t know that?” Donatello demanded, getting up from the chair he was sitting in. “Are you doubting my intelligence?”
“Yes, if you honestly think you are twins with him, then I am.”
“Uhhh, Draxum,” said Michelangelo quickly, stepping between him and the now furious Donatello, “this was a… funny joke, but you can stop now-“
“This is not a joke. I am simply explaining the facts.”
“Yeah, well,” now Leonardo was on his feet, too, “the facts are that me and Donnie are twins. Always have been, always will be.”
“You are not,” Draxum insisted. “And given what I have seen here today, I’d think you’d both be relieved, since you clearly don’t enjoy being twins!”
Both boys looked like they’d just been slapped in the face. The rest of the room had gone completely silent, like everyone was collectively holding their breath.
Donatello broke first, turning on his heel and marching out of the room, his hands balled into fists and his shoulders hunched up as high as they could go. “Dee!” called Leonardo, and then he was scurrying off after him. There was the sound of a heavy door slamming, then silence.
It didn’t last long.
“Draxum!” roared the rat, actually getting up from his chair to get in Draxum’s face. “You come in here and upset my boys on their own birthday!?”
“Seriously not cool, Drax,” said the human April. Cassandra shook her head in shared disappointment behind her.
Draxum pushed Lou Jitsu back, scowling at his accusers. “I was only explaining reality! This is really the rat’s fault for letting their delusion go on so long.”
“Delusion!?”
“Barry!”
“Rat!?”
“Ooookay,” said Raphael suddenly, stepping his way into the middle of the fray and starting to herd Draxum back toward the exit. “That’s enough of that for now.”
“I am simply trying to explain-“
“Trust me, hoss, you wanna step away from this one,” said Raphael, and his tone was angry but surprisingly measured. “Come on.”
They retreated to the sewer tunnels outside the subway station. The smell was much worse out here, and Draxum wrinkled his nose.
“Alright.” Raphael heaved a sigh, folding his arms. “So here’s the deal. Mikey likes you, and I guess I kinda do too, so I’m gonna try to help you before you completely torpedo your chances with the rest of the guys. Which, you kinda did already, but maybe we can turn it around.”
“I still don’t understand why they’re so upset,” said Draxum. “Surely it was obvious they aren’t twins.”
“Uh, yeah, they know they aren’t twins by bio-whatever,” agreed Raphael. “They ain’t stupid.”
“Hmm.” Draxum turned up his nose. “Donatello isn’t stupid, maybe.”
“Leo ain’t stupid, either, he just pretends like it.” Raphael pinched his brow. “Listen, that isn’t the point - the point is they already know they didn’t come from the same egg or hatch the same day or whatever. They’re just twins anyway.”
“But how? That doesn’t make sense!”
Raphael sighed again. “Alright, look. Dad didn’t know when we hatched, right? But we all wanted birthday parties like we saw on TV, so he let us pick.”
“Yes. And for some reason Leonardo and Donatello chose the same day.” Draxum could figure that much out on his own.
Raphael nodded. “I was the biggest and oldest, and Mikey was the littlest and youngest, and Leo and Donnie were just kinda sandwiched in the middle. I think at first they just wanted a thing. Somethin’ that set them apart from me and Mikey, ya know?”
“Not really,” said Draxum. Raphael glared at him, and he sighed. “But go on.”
“So they picked the same birthday and called themselves twins. I think Pops just so glad they were actually getting along that he agreed to it. And I think he thought once we got to the day, and they realized they were really gonna have to share it, they’d both demand their own day instead. I know I thought that was gonna happen.” He smiled at the memory. “But the day came, and… they fussed the whole time just like they do now. Arguing about what kind of cake they wanted and who got to open their present first. But they didn’t ask to split. They kept it the same day, and they kept calling each other twins and it just stuck, until we didn’t question it anymore.”
“…They are both stubborn,” Draxum pointed out, and Raphael laughed once.
“Yeah, guess they are. But that’s not what this is.” Raphael shrugged. “They chose each other back then. Maybe at first it was just to have a thing, but then it became real. And every single year they keep choosing each other. That’s why they’re twins.”
Choosing each other as twins… Draxum furrowed his brow. “It’s not normally a choice,” he pointed out finally.
“Yeah, well, our family doesn’t get a lot of choices, so just let ‘em have this one, okay?”
“…Fine,” Draxum finally relented. “As long as it’s noted that this is purely a social designation, and not a biological one.”
“Uh, sure, whatever.” Raphael rolled his eyes. “Glad we got that cleared up, though. Think you can come back to the party and behave?”
Draxum wrinkled his nose at that phrasing, but nodded. “Yes. I will not bring it up again.”
“Good!” Raphael’s smile abruptly transitioned into something much more dangerous. “Because if you make my little brothers upset on their birthday again, I’ll remind you what it was like when we were enemies.”
Then the smile was back. “Now let’s go in!”
He walked back to the subway station, leaving Draxum to follow on his own. Draxum couldn’t help but sigh wistfully.
Raphael would have made a great general for his army.
———
The boys had already returned by the time Draxum got back. They were opening more gifts, and he noted they were wearing hoodies now - though they had apparently decided to swap their signature colors. They were smiling and chattering, and any hint of their earlier upset was gone.
Until Draxum stepped into their line of sight, and both of them went rigid, wary of him.
Apparently just talking to the red one was not enough. Draxum would have to do more. What a pain.
But he didn’t want the boys to hate him. So he sighed and launched into it.
“I… am sorry. I shouldn’t have said you aren’t twins.”
The boys looked surprised at that; slowly, their posture loosened back up.
“And… to make up for my present, I will… take the two of you wherever you want to go in the Hidden City.” The next words were painful, and he ground them out. “My treat.”
Leonardo and Donatello shifted their gaze from him to each other. They were silent, but it didn’t seem like they needed to talk to have a conversation.
Then they finally looked back at Draxum, slow grins growing over both their faces.
Eerily matching, very evil grins.
“Oh,” said Leonardo, happily menacing. “I think we can think of something.”
“I concur,” said Donatello in the exact same tone.
Oh, thought Draxum. Maybe they really are twins.
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