Archive of Our Own ^beta

The whole debacle starts because Roommates, Anakin’s number one favourite holodrama, comes to an end.

“I hate this,” he announces to the transport at large.

“Are you in pain?” Obi-Wan murmurs, and Anakin raises his head from where it’s pillowed on Obi-Wan’s robe to blink at him.

“What?” For a moment, Anakin stares at him. Then he realises. “Oh, you were talking about my legs.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrows. He looks terrible, smeared with mud and blood, and his eyes have that look about them that’s simultaneously hollowed and manic. Anakin thinks he should probably lie down, but Anakin’s taking up most of the floor space, and Obi-Wan’s too busy leaning over him and frowning to look after himself. “What were you talking about?”

Anakin opens his mouth. Pauses, because Obi-Wan isn’t a Roommates fan. Only because he’s never actually seen the show, of course. He’s such a snob about anything that’s popular, honestly, oh Anakin, who cares about the mundane lives of civilians sharing accommodation in an apartment on Coruscant. Everyone cares, Obi-Wan. Anakin definitely cares. Roommates is his favourite show, and now it’s over, and he found out right before they deployed on their latest mission.

Anakin still did his job, of course. Channelled his heartbreak into breaking as many clankers as he could get his hands on, but now they’re on the transport back to the ship, and Anakin got exploded and nearly lost some limbs or whatever, and he was just thinking that hey, you know what would cheer him up, a new episode of Roommates, only for cruel reality to slap him right in the face.

“Anakin? Anakin, stay with me.”

Anakin blinks. Obi-Wan is leaning over him, trying to look calm and in control and failing. His eyes are darting, his jaw too tight. The clone troopers probably don’t notice, with the obvious exception of Cody, but Anakin would know that furrowed brow anywhere.

The hand in his own is kind of a surprise. It’s a big hand, though not quite as big as his own, and rough. It’s even more of a surprise to realise that hand belongs to Obi-Wan.

“Stay with me, Anakin. Try to stay awake.”

Huh, Anakin is feeling a bit woozy, now Obi-Wan mentions it. A nap would be nice –

“Anakin.”

“Ow,” Anakin complains. “Let me sleep. Life has no meaning.” That’s kind of a weird thing to say. Not very dignified, certainly not for a Jedi and a general. He’d better elaborate. “Roommates is finished.”

“General, his vitals are dropping,” says someone nearby. One of the clones, a medic, but not Kix. Where’s Kix? Anakin looks around – tries to, anyway. His head is so heavy.

There’s… a lot of movement around him. As much as the clones can move in the packed transport. Flashing lights and beeping machines and medication being injected into him. It’s chaotic, confusing, but Obi-Wan is there. Leaning over Anakin, holding his hand, that furrow etched permanently between his brows.

It’s nice, actually. The hand holding, not the frown.

“Hang on, Anakin,” Obi-Wan tells him. “Anakin.” Another smack – Anakin didn’t realise his eyes had closed. “Tell me about Roommates.”

Well. Since Obi-Wan asked.

“It’s my favourite show,” Anakin says. “And it’s over.”

“Yes?” Obi-Wan says. Rather than snappish or barking orders, his voice is soothing. He rubs his thumb over Anakin’s hand, a counterpoint to the fact that the rest of Anakin is weirdly numb.

He tries to move his legs. Realises that he can’t – like, he can’t even feel them. He has legs, doesn’t he? He’d remember if he didn’t? He should probably be panicking, but Anakin just feels confused, actually. He isn’t sure what happened. Doesn’t know what’s happening now.

“Anakin.” A hand on his face, and oh, it’s Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan looks bad. “What did you like about Roommates?”

Oh hey, that’s Anakin’s favourite holodrama. He smiles.

“It’s really funny,” Anakin tells him. “I like the characters. ‘Cept Roro and Rinaya shouldn’t have gotten together at the end, I hate Roro.”

“Why’s that?”

Anakin tells him. It isn’t the best advertisement for the show – even he realises that his explanation of the long and complicated relationship between the two characters is somewhat garbled, mostly because he keeps going back to add in details that he’d forgotten, then he loses his place and has to start over. But Obi-Wan listens, and he asks good questions, and he keeps holding Anakin’s hand. Even once they’re back on the ship and Anakin is wheeled into the medical suite, Obi-Wan is there. Holding his hand. Smiling down at him, even though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“The medical droid is going to put you to sleep for a while, all right? You’ll feel better when you wake up – Anakin, Anakin, it’s all right. You’re all right.”

“What’s happening?” Anakin doesn’t mean to thrash. But all of a sudden the machines are going crazy, and someone is saying something about restraints, and Anakin is confused and he’s scared and –

Obi-Wan is there. His familiar face, his familiar voice. Leaning over Anakin, and holding his hand.

“You’re in the medical suite” – oh, yes, yes he is – “but you’re going to be all right.”

“Don’t go,” Anakin pleads. “Don’t go, don’t go, don’t leave me.”

He doesn’t mean to say that. Everything’s strangely… far away, his voice disconnected from his body. It doesn’t sound right, either, not even to him. He’s slurring. He doesn’t feel good.

“I’m right here,” Obi-Wan says, but Anakin shakes his head.

“You’ll leave me. Soon as I’m asleep. You always leave me.” 

Anakin’s eyes keep unfocusing, and he can’t fight it when the stupid medical droid puts a breathing mask over his face, even though he tries to. As soon as he goes to sleep, Obi-Wan will leave him. Anakin is terrified of Obi-Wan leaving him. Leaving him here, alone, where everything is white and bright and beeping.

It occurs to Anakin, belatedly, that he’s a war general – they both are. Also occurs to him that he’s sobbing, a trembling, animal noise that keeps working its way out of his chest. Occurs to him too that Obi-Wan looks scared. Is still covered in mud and blood, a war general with a thousand responsibilities and little time to sit around nursing his former Padawan when there are medics and droids and bacta tanks available, and Anakin tries to tell him that it’s all right and he can go, but there’s something on Anakin’s face that makes talking impossible, and Anakin is having trouble breathing, his chest hurts, his head hurts, he’s scared – 

“It’s all right, Anakin.” Familiar blue-grey eyes. A big, warm hand cradling his own. “Shh, shh, shh. It’s all right.”

Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan is here. His face is so close, his lips curled into a smile, even though his eyes are damp with tears. He’s smiling, so it’s all right. It must be all right.

Anakin drifts. His eyes close. And this time, the darkness takes him.

- - -

When Anakin next wakes up, several significant changes have taken place.

For one, he’s in the Halls of Healing in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Secondly, he’s significantly more lucid, but this is not an improvement, as it gives him time to realise that he is both very angry and very itchy and there’s not a lot he can do about either. Thirdly, Anakin is alone.

Except for the medical droid, that is. But first of all, that doesn’t count, and second, this is not a good thing. No sooner has Anakin gotten his bearings than the damn thing is poking and prodding at him without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Master Skywalker, you are awake.”

“Yeah, well spotted,” he snaps. 

“How are you feeling? Please rate your current sense of wellness on a scale of one to ten, one being–”

“Oh kriff off, you bucket of bolts.”

Anakin tries to get up. Tries and fails, but the shock of it only makes him try harder. The machines he’s plugged into go crazy as Anakin thrashes, trying to move his legs – why can’t he move his legs? The medical droid tries to pin him down, and then Anakin’s room is full of Healers who are also dead keen on him staying in bed.

“Master Skywalker, it’s all right. Master Skywalker, Anakin, calm down. Nurse, sedative–”

So this sucks.

He does talk his way out of the sedative, though. Largely because Master Vokara Che walks in at that moment, and Anakin stops whacking people long enough to communicate. 

“I can’t feel my legs!”

This is not news to Vokara Che. She informs him, bluntly but not without sympathy, that he was seriously injured and his lower half is currently paralysed. He will recover, however, so could he please settle down and stop causing a commotion in her nice, quiet Halls?

Anakin does. Not because he’s scared of Master Che, for the record, but because she chooses that moment to pick up a particularly threatening-looking needle, and he’s learned at least something from his time on the front. Sometimes retreat is the sign of real valour.

“That’s better,” Master Che says primly. “Now, Anakin, do you remember the last time you woke up?”

Anakin squints at her. Has to concede that no, he doesn’t. None of the healers look happy about it, and he isn’t exactly thrilled either, but Master Che takes it in stride. Pulls out a datapad and launches into a pop quiz – what year is it, what planet is this, count backwards from a hundred in increments of seven, you can do it – and Anakin is so baffled by this turn of events that he gives up his struggle with his useless body in favour of answering.

“Please repeat the names of these objects,” Master Che continues. “Apple, glass, table.” 

Anakin wants Obi-Wan. Sudden and visceral, as all-consuming as it was when he was a child. But Anakin isn’t a child anymore, and he doesn’t need someone to be with him. Never mind that he got exploded. Never mind that he took a spinal injury that’s left him temporarily paralysed while the Healers fuse his nerve endings back together. Never mind that he almost died his injuries were so severe, and the medic scrabbled to keep him alive long enough to even reach Coruscant. Why would he need someone? Anakin is fine being paralysed. He loves being alone and vulnerable in the Halls of Healing, actually. Not resentful at all.

He is Anakin Skywalker. The Chosen One, the Hero with No Fear, Jedi Knight and war general and an ace pilot to boot. He is a grown man and a combat veteran, and he doesn’t need someone at his bedside, wasting time keeping vigil when there’s a war to win and resources are stretched thin as it is.

I’m here, Obi-Wan had told him. I’m here, Anakin, I’m with you. Liar.

Master Che finally finishes her impromptu trivia session, and Anakin is treated to one of his least favourite parts of any hospital stay: being talked about like he isn’t there. The Healers have a lovely little conference right by his bedside on the topic of him, to which Anakin is not invited to participate. Then, once they finish, they issue strict instructions like they’re talking to a child and kriff off into the distance, leaving Anakin without even the medical droid for company. Anakin isn’t allowed (or honestly able) to sit up, which he absolutely despises, but they do leave Anakin with his datapad to entertain himself.

Anakin is alone. Anakin doesn’t want to be alone, but he’s conscious now and has all his marbles back, at least in theory, so there’s no excuse for whining about it. 

It’s in this moment, of course, that his personal tragedy strikes for a second time: Roommates is over. Usually an extended hospital stay is an excuse to binge the latest episodes, but not today. It’s done. There are no more episodes, and Anakin practically throws his datapad down again. He liked that show. Was more attached to it than is strictly reasonable, but it was like… an escape. A window into lives both gentler and more interesting than his own. An opportunity to just laugh for a while, forget about the pressures of war and enjoy himself, even if it only lasted the duration of an episode. 

Roommates is over. It’s all done, finished. Nothing to be done about it.

Anakin receives his first visitor a few hours later, though it may as well be a week given how stir-crazy he’s feeling. He’s stopped and started multiple different holodramas on his datapad, downloaded a new game only to give it up three seconds later, and he’s currently considering taking up HoloNet gambling as a hobby when the door to his private room opens.

“Hey, Master,” Ahsoka says, poking her head in before the rest of her materialises. She’s uncharacteristically uncertain, watching him like she’s expecting something strange in response.

But Anakin’s one and only thought is: company. He already feels like he’s going crazy, but the look on her face puts a stop to the rant he would otherwise launch into now he has an audience. Ahsoka’s voice is uncharacteristically small, her hands wringing, anxiety practically rolling off her. She looks like she might cry, and Anakin doesn’t know what to do with that other than barrel full-steam ahead.

He’s very brave, though he says so himself. Anakin is the mature one in this relationship, and he senses it isn’t time to launch into this is the worst ward in the galaxy, I hate it here and nobody even cares, why don’t you love me Ahsoka. She’s just a kid, it’s not her fault. She isn’t the one who’s broken any promises to him, either.

I’ll stay with you, Anakin. I’m here. Yeah, right.

“Hey Snips, you got any holodrama recommendations?” Anakin says instead, putting on his bravest of faces and noting the widening of Ahsoka’s eyes, the wobbling of her lip, the welling of fresh tears as she sits gingerly down by his bedside.

(At least someone cares.)

“Master!” Ahsoka cries, way too loud and excited, before she remembers herself. She overcorrects, lowering her voice like they’re at a funeral together. “How are you feeling, Master?’

“Oh, is that a show?” Anakin quips – he’s quite proud of it, actually. Less proud when her bottom lip gives the most tragic wibble yet, and he hastens to reassure her. “I’m fine, Snips. Takes more than that to get rid of me.”

“Your heart stopped,” Ahsoka whispers, and she looks so young, scrubbing tears from her eyes, her skinny adolescent limbs folded up in her chair.

So I literally died and Obi-Wan still isn’t here, is Anakin’s first thought. Followed by oh kriff, say something funny.

“I’m– uh.” Nope, did not nail it. “I’m all right. They got me back. I’ll be good as new in no time.”

Ahsoka sniffles. Wiping at her face, trying to compose herself back into a Jedi’s serenity.

“Seriously, did you see the Roommates finale?” Anakin says. “Tell me you hate the Roro and Rinaya ending as much as I do.”

Once he gets her talking about that, they’re all right. Ahsoka cheers up, though her eyes still look very moist. It turns out she also has opinions on the Roro/Rinaya romance (correct opinions, luckily), and she and Anakin loudly lament the show’s ending.

It doesn’t last. She gets wobbly again when she has to help him drink water; being hydrated by hand is not their usual dynamic. Anakin does have a cannula in his arm, but his mouth is dry, and he’s a proper invalid at the moment. Can’t move his legs, can’t sit up, and along with all his other problems his prosthetic hand is acting up and he hasn’t exactly had the opportunity to fix it. Ahsoka presses a straw to his lips, and Anakin drinks, but Ahsoka’s eyes are welling again.

Anakin shifts, awkward. She’s just a kid, Obi-Wan should be here – but he isn’t. He isn’t here, he didn’t stay and he didn’t come, and Anakin isn’t going to suffer the indignity of asking for him.

“That was really scary, Master,” Ahsoka says, lower lip trembling and all trace of sass a distant memory, giving way to an emotional confession that he is in no way prepared for. 

At least she cares, unlike some people. There is that.

“We’re fighting a war,” he says, gracious and stoic (he’s impressed with himself). “These things happen.”

When Ahsoka finally leaves, promising to find him a new holodrama to watch, Anakin stares up at the ceiling. Roommates is over. The end of an era, and maybe it’s irrational to blame his own near-ending on it, but it feels like a chapter closing in his life. Roommates has always been there. Always there for him to come home to, always there to anchor him after the chaos and excitement and horror of battle, always there for company when he wakes in the dead of night and his thoughts are too busy to go back to sleep.

Now it’s done. Anakin shuts his eyes, fighting a sudden tightness in his throat and burning in his eyes. He’s alone, utterly and completely. Alone, and the thing that makes him happy is just gone, never to be the same again.

He isn’t expecting to doze off, but he does. One moment he’s stewing on the unfairness of the galaxy and the cruelty of abandonment (both by his friends and by the showrunners, because honestly, how could they?). The opening of the door rouses him, but not enough to open his eyes, still in that hazy place between waking and sleeping.

The door closes. He hears quiet footsteps, slow to mask the heaviness of booted feet, rather than the purposeful bustle of a Healer. Hears a huff of breath, familiar, as a body eases into the chair at his bedside.

Obi-Wan. It’s Obi-Wan. Anakin would know him anywhere.

He opens his eyes. Blinks – it’s gotten dark, and his eyelids are so heavy. He fights his way to consciousness, and it isn’t normally this hard, is it? He only had a nap, why is it like wading through molasses?

“Anakin?”

Obi-Wan’s voice is so soft. He leans in closer, eyes searching Anakin’s face. He looks… not great, actually. Older, somehow, and while he’s always been older than Anakin, Anakin has never thought of him as old. Obi-Wan is charming, strong, active. People call Anakin a force of nature, compare him to a storm, but Obi-Wan is much the same. Subtler, certainly, but no less inexorable. Obi-Wan is like a mountain, maybe, ever-present but unmoving, offering shelter from the elements to those in need. Or maybe he’s more like water. Not the sea, unpredictable in its moods, but a great lake. Cool, calm, a welcome reprieve to a weary traveller and yet more than capable of dealing death to those who do not treat it with respect.

High general, Council Master, active-duty Jedi. Anakin’s Master, above all else. Anakin may never forgive him for leaving him. Yet something in his chest goes warm and bright with the knowledge that he’s here.

“Anakin, how are you feeling?” Obi-Wan murmurs, and Anakin blinks again. Obi-Wan’s face is shadowed, the grey in his hair and lines on his face pronounced.

Where have you been? Anakin wants to say. You promised you wouldn’t leave me.

He doesn’t. He isn’t a child, he doesn’t need Obi-Wan anymore. He doesn’t need anyone.

“I hope you brought me something to eat,” Anakin says instead. “I’m starving.”

Obi-Wan startles. His brow furrows, briefly expressive, his eyes searching Anakin’s face. Then his features warm, banishing the shadows, but it isn’t enough.

Obi-Wan looks so tired. Looks strained. Looks strange, though anyone who didn’t know him so well wouldn’t spot it, as stoic as Obi-Wan is. Other people don’t know him at all; they see the wit, the practicality, the intellect, and think that’s all there is. 

Anakin knows better.

“Last I heard, you were on a paste diet,” Obi-Wan says, light and teasing despite the sag of his features.

“Come on, Obi-Wan, not the goop,” Anakin whines, and wonders why Obi-Wan’s shoulders relax. “I hate the goop.”

Obi-Wan makes a point of rolling his eyes. But he reaches into the folds of his robes. Pulls out a single serving of blue jelly, and Anakin is both thrilled and infuriated at the contraband. He wants food – solid, chewable, delicious food – but blue jelly is his favourite.

“This is the best I can do,” Obi-Wan says.

He probably got it from the Healers’ station in the first place, judging by the packaging. It could barely be called smuggling, and Anakin hasn’t forgiven him for leaving him alone, just for the record.

Still.

“I’ll take it,” Anakin says, holding out an eager hand. He immediately runs into the problem of his damaged prosthetic, trying and failing to peel off the lid, and Obi-Wan reaches out to help. Doesn’t even say anything, just peels the lid off in one go with his perfectly functional fingers, sticks a spoon in it, and pulls the table over the top of the bed so Anakin can rest it there rather than attempting to hold both container and cutlery.

“I had it,” Anakin insists, more out of principle than anything. He very much did not have it.

“I’m just glad to see you’re feeling better,” Obi-Wan says, fiddling with the controls to tilt Anakin’s bed to a better angle so he can eat without spilling jelly all over himself.

Oh, so you noticed I was gone, did you? Anakin thinks. He doesn’t say it; he’s feeling very magnanimous right now.

“Can’t keep me down,” he says. Manages a spoonful of jelly (if somewhat messily).

Obi-Wan stands. For a second Anakin thinks he’s leaving him again – wait, no, please don’t leave me warring with well fine, I don’t need you anyway, see if I care – but Obi-Wan doesn’t go far. He takes the lid to the garbage disposal, and refills the cup Ahsoka helped Anakin drink out of earlier. He’s standing at the sink, back to Anakin, when he speaks again.

“You didn’t recognise me for a while there.”

Anakin startles. Cranes his neck, since he isn’t able to sit up, trying to get a better look at Obi-Wan.

“What?”

“Mm,” Obi-Wan says, the king of elaboration. “As I said, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Anakin blinks at his turned back. It seems impossible. Unthinkable that there are any circumstances in which Anakin wouldn’t recognise Obi-Wan. If it were anyone else, Anakin would think they were making outlandish claims just to mess with him.

“I don’t remember,” he says, and that’s a problem in and of itself. He remembers being on the transport, and he remembers waking up some time earlier today. There is nothing in between. Total void, not even a vague recollection of a dream that passed the time.

“Out of curiosity,” Obi-Wan says. He turns back around, smile normal, tone fine, but the sight of his face is still a shock to the system. He looks so old. Tired and grey, like all the life and colour’s been drained out of him. “Who – or indeed, what – is Ratyl? You were deeply worried about its whereabouts. Far more worried about that than the state of your own person, I should point out.”

“Ratyl? Like, the pet snake on Roommates?” Anakin says, equally baffled, and Obi-Wan snorts a laugh.

“Now it begins to make sense.”

“There was this one episode where it escaped its enclosure,” Anakin says slowly, piecing it together. Also, it’s an opportunity to talk about Roommates: he’ll take it. “It was really funny. It’s Roro’s pet, of course, but he’s a total skughead and ignored the girls when they were worried and they all ended up climbing onto the furniture ‘cause they couldn’t find it. You should watch the show, you know, you’d like it.”

“Well, with how often you talk about it,” Obi-Wan says, which is significant progress on ‘that tosh?’ or ‘I prefer documentaries, you’re wasting your life’. Obi-Wan sits back down beside Anakin. Doesn’t quite look at him, voice oddly rough, when he says, “Are you in pain at all?”

“Nah,” Anakin says. Honest, too. “I mean, I’m itchy, and I’m sick of being here already, and it’s so boring that it’s kind of agony, but physical pain? No. Can’t feel my legs, but everything else is fine.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan murmurs, eyes crinkling into a smile. Soft, so much softer than Anakin is expecting. Relieved like the thought of Anakin being in pain hurts him somehow. “That’s good.”

- - -

It turns out that Anakin’s been stuck in the Halls of Healing for a lot longer than he realises. Not a matter of days, but a matter of weeks. Two whole weeks of his life just… gone, lost to the abyss of a head injury.

So that’s fun. Also fun is being both bored and tired all the time. So tired, even though he’s not doing anything. Two rounds of Sabacc with Obi-Wan shouldn’t necessitate a four-hour nap, but Anakin can’t stay awake.

“You’re healing, Anakin,” Master Che says when he asks about it.

It’s a load of bantha dung as far as Anakin is concerned. He’s fine. He’s himself again, with a functioning memory and two working limbs, though admittedly the mechno-arm is still out of action and his legs have yet to rejoin the party. They’re tingling, which is apparently a good sign, but what they are not is weight-bearing, which he discovers when he manages to haul himself out of bed and promptly collapses onto the floor.

This leads, naturally, into Anakin’s second major problem in life: he is stuck in the Halls of Healing. Anakin doesn’t want to be stuck in the Halls of Healing. He doesn’t, strictly speaking, need to be in the Halls of Healing, since the Healers’ interventions are pretty well done and now it’s just a waiting game. He’s well enough to lie around in the privacy of his own apartment, but what he isn’t allowed is to be left alone and unsupervised, which is the lot in life of any Jedi Knight whose Padawan is currently sitting exams and practically tugging her montrals out about it. So while Anakin could be released, he isn’t allowed to be. Anakin is in medical limbo, and he is not enjoying it.

(His first major life problem is still Roommates, for the record. Problem 1 is Roommates and Problem 2 is his recovery after catastrophic injury, in that order.)

“I can use the Force, I’ll be able to look after myself,” Anakin tells an unimpressed Master Che. “I can just stay in my apartment, I’ll be fine.”

“You are unable to adequately care for yourself at present, and I cannot release you and risk you worsening your injuries. I’m sorry, Anakin, but you’ll have to remain here for now.”

She doesn’t even give Anakin the chance to plead his case. She just tests his reflexes (his legs are responding again), makes a note on her datapad, and bustles off. Like Anakin’s opinion doesn’t even matter. Like the fact he’s so bored and loathes confinement so much that he’s seriously considering chewing his own arm off is irrelevant. The mechno-arm, too – he’s ambitious.

“Can you believe her?” he tells Obi-Wan later, incensed. “She makes it sound like I’m a youngling who needs babysitting.”

“Master Che is strict with all her patients,” Obi-Wan observes, which translated means that even he can’t charm her into getting his way. He’s in the process of peeling Anakin some fruit, his fingers moving deft and sure. “She has your best interests at heart.”

Anakin hates it when people say that. It isn’t usually Obi-Wan who reaches for the meaningless platitudes, either, which makes it doubly annoying. “I can take care of myself!”

Obi-Wan smiles, wry, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He hands Anakin a piece of fruit, and Anakin begrudgingly takes it. “Even you require more than one functional limb, my friend.”

“See, that’s another thing. She won’t let me fix my prosthetic either. Says as long as it’s not causing me pain she’d rather not ‘interfere further with my neural pathways’, whatever that means.”

“Who knows?”

Anakin shoots Obi-Wan a look. Obi-Wan definitely knows, science-lover that he is. Anakin has caught him reading textbooks for fun before. Obi-Wan just hands him another piece of fruit.

“I hate it here,” Anakin complains, letting his head flop back against the pillow. “I want to go home.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t reply to that, the cold bastard. He just hums, which isn’t the enthusiastic agreement and commiseration Anakin was hoping for. Obi-Wan hands Anakin the last of his fruit and gets up, says he’ll return in a moment, and kriffs off out of Anakin’s room.

He’s gone for ages. So long that Anakin figures he isn’t coming back, and he goes to comm him before he remembers himself. Obi-Wan is the champion of broken promises these days, straight up abandons Anakin without a second thought when Anakin is at his most vulnerable, but it’s fine. 

Anakin doesn’t need him. Anakin doesn’t need anyone, and if Obi-Wan wants to go, then he can go. Anakin will just lie here, forgotten and alone.

It’s a little embarrassing how he lights up when Obi-Wan steps back into his ward room over an hour later. His expression sours again quickly as he remembers it comes on the heels of betrayal, but the happy little jump is still there.

“You were a while,” Anakin says. He aims for neutral, ends up with sulky. Whatever.

Obi-Wan doesn’t reply immediately. He glides back across the room, hands hidden in his brown robe. Sits down, giving Anakin a serious look.

“Master Che is willing to release you into my custody,” Obi-Wan says, and Anakin almost sits up he’s so thrilled. Obi-Wan catches him with a hand on the shoulder and a reproachful look, and Anakin subsides. “If the both of us will follow her strict instructions, and you are willing to place yourself under my supervision.”

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” Anakin says. He didn’t ask Obi-Wan for help, it’s very important to note that, but he’s not going to sneer when help is offered freely.

“As I recall it, you get rather sick of my supervision,” Obi-Wan says. His tone is mild, but there’s a weight to the way he’s looking at Anakin. The weight of many fights, but Anakin ignores him.

Freedom. He smells freedom. He’ll take it.

- - -

Actually living with Obi-Wan is like a step back in time.

The aesthetic of Obi-Wan’s apartment is the same as ever – which is to say, minimalist – though Anakin spots one whole teacup that must be new. Obi-Wan’s home decor tends along the lines of beige, and even for a Jedi he’s austere. Jedi are allowed hobbies, and most people have some sort of sporting equipment lined up against the wall, or technical gear, or even artistic supplies. Just not Obi-Wan, who one can only assume spends his time fluffing his cushions and staring out the window.

“We’ll be quite all right, Masters, I assure you,” Obi-Wan is telling the team of Healers who helped transfer Anakin.

They’re all giving Anakin suspicious looks. The term non-compliant patient has been bandied about a lot, but Anakin ignores that along with everything else. They’ve set Anakin up in Obi-Wan’s living room with a wheelchair and strict instructions that he is not, under any circumstances, allowed to stand up unsupported.

It’s annoying. And Obi-Wan is no help.

“Of course,” he tells the Healers. “I’ll ensure he follows your instructions to the letter, or I’ll wheel him back to the ward myself.”

Ah, prison.

Still, once the Healers leave, it’s not so bad. Anakin looks at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan looks at Anakin. In silence, Obi-Wan goes to put the kettle on, making tea for himself and hot chocolate for Anakin. Just like when he was a Padawan.

“You know, I drink grown up drinks now,” Anakin says, managing to wheel his way into the tiny kitchen after Obi-Wan.

“Yes, but the fact you refer to beverages as ‘grown up drinks’ says it all, I think,” Obi-Wan says. Anakin scowls up at him, lamenting the loss of height – it’s been years since he had to crane his neck to look Obi-Wan in the eye. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a hot chocolate.”

“You’re not having one.”

“No, but that’s because I don’t want the sugar crash. I wasn’t expecting you to take my blood sugar personally.”

Anakin opens his mouth to fight back. His mind is blank, his body sagging, and he mumbles, “I’m too tired to argue with you right now.”

Obi-Wan’s face flickers, which is weird enough on its own. Weirder still, he kneels down. “Would you like to sleep?”

Anakin never thought he’d miss being sassed to within an inch of his life by Obi-Wan. This conciliatory attitude is even stranger than losing three squabbles in a row (strange, obviously, because Anakin should be winning). If you asked any of Obi-Wan’s clone troopers, they’d say he’s a strict, disciplined sort of man, though with enough charm and humour to soften the sharp edges. Not the sort of man who kneels at your feet in his kitchen, looking up at you with sad blue-grey eyes like he’d do anything you asked.

Anakin knows Obi-Wan: he definitely wouldn’t. Obi-Wan is every bit as stubborn as Anakin, he’s just sneakier about it. But there’s another thought – Obi-Wan’s clone troopers.

“Why aren’t you out fighting the war?” Anakin asks. It’s not like he needs Obi-Wan. Not like Obi-Wan’s ever been inclined to keep promises to Anakin when duty rears its head, either.

“I’m on leave,” Obi-Wan says, with the tone of someone who thinks this should be obvious. “Now, I’ll go and change the bedsheets so you can lie down.”

It’s been many, many years since Anakin spent any time in Obi-Wan’s bed, and even then it wasn’t voluntary on Obi-Wan’s part. Obi-Wan is weirdly private about specific things, and not a platonic bed-sharer by nature. But Obi-Wan wheels him into his personal, private bedroom and helps transfer Anakin into bed just like the Healers showed them, and Anakin mumbles something that could be a complaint then passes out, exhausted. 

When he wakes up again, it takes a while for him to open his eyes. It’s warm here. Soft. It smells like Obi-Wan, like clean linen and the scent of his shampoo. It’s nice. It makes something in his chest pang, a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. In his sleepy state, Anakin wishes he could stay here forever, just like this.

Then he actually wakes up, scoffs, and gets moving again.

Getting out of bed again is an ordeal. Anakin refuses to call for help, pulling his wheelchair into a better position with the Force, but he isn’t used to moving himself about without functioning legs. Using his hands, he hauls his left leg into position, then his right. Tries to angle them so he’ll just… flop into the chair, but the position is all wrong – chances are he’ll land in the chair then tumble over with it landing on top of him. It’s a conundrum, but he isn’t given the opportunity to solve it. Obi-Wan opens the door with the short, sharp energy of a man sensing shenanigans, sighs, then helps Anakin back into the wheelchair himself.

“Why didn’t you call for me?”

“I’m fine,” Anakin mutters, refusing to look at him. It’s no mean feat given that Obi-Wan is all up in his personal space, manoeuvring him out of the bed. “I don’t need help, I told you I can do it myself.”

“Really, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. “I am glad you’re feeling better, but there’s no need to be so stubborn.”

Says him.

The wheelchair is definitely more awkward than Anakin was expecting. It shouldn’t be – he sees regular wheelchair users whizzing around Coruscant like they’re in the podraces, and Anakin’s always been good with new tech. He’s going to blame his hand, which he still hasn’t been allowed to fix. Well, the hand and the wheelchair, which rather than a souped-up high-tech mobility device with powered steering and cool gadgets attached, is instead fully manual and hospital grade. In the same way that hospital food could be said to be hospital grade, this is not a compliment.

Still, Anakin wheels himself back into the living room. Obi-Wan cooked while Anakin was napping, so they eat together, and it’s the same as it always is. Anakin slots back into the rhythm of Obi-Wan’s life like he never left it, and after the dishes are done Obi-Wan lets Anakin at the remote while he reads a book on his datapad. Well, ‘reads a book’ – he likes to pretend he isn’t watching whatever Anakin settles on, while remaining in convenient proximity to the screen.

He is definitely watching, by the way. With rapt attention, because Anakin likes good media, and he’s suckered Obi-Wan into many a holodrama just by turning it on in his presence. It’s Roommates that’s the holdout, and only because he and Obi-Wan don’t live together anymore, so Anakin hasn’t been able to strategically lure him in with funny clips and emotional character moments.

(It’s weird, not living with Obi-Wan. Anakin is a grown man, of course, knighted and with a Padawan of his own, so he doesn’t need to live with his old Master. It’s not like he and Obi-Wan didn’t fight, either, their propensity for conflict vastly improved since Anakin moved out. They argued over the kitchen, and the refresher, and the simple reality of living in close proximity with another person. But they also took care of each other, and it’s weird being without Obi-Wan, weird not waking to the pad of his bare feet and the early-morning clatter in the kitchen and the vulnerability of his bed hair. Weird in a way it isn’t with Ahsoka, but Anakin isn’t going to examine that thought too closely.)

It’s a romantic thriller he’s decided to watch today. Largely because it features one of the actors from Roommates in an early, minor role, not that Anakin is going to mention that to Obi-Wan. You have to coax him into things over time, like putting treats down for a feral tooka you want to bring in for the winter. It’s for this same reason that surreptitiously, without making a big deal out of it, Anakin turns the subtitles on. For Obi-Wan, obviously – Obi-Wan’s hearing is fine, but he prefers reading along.

They mumble their lines, is a frequent complaint. When I was young, actors actually enunciated. Whatever, old man.

“That was silly,” Obi-Wan pronounces when the credits roll. His datapad is technically sitting on his knee, but it’s been a long time since he tapped the screen.

“I thought you weren’t watching,” Anakin drawls back, amused. This, too, is familiar; they’ve had this conversation a hundred times.

“I wasn’t.”

“Uh-huh.”

A pause. In his peripheral vision, Anakin sees Obi-Wan twitch. Then Obi-Wan gives in. “You’d think Meghana would have had more sense.”

“Ha.”

Like Anakin says, a step back in time. Obi-Wan launches into a detailed media analysis, breaking down the themes, and the character archetypes, and using words like versimilitude that Anakin doesn’t understand and doesn’t care to. Anakin, for his part, monologues on the fight scenes, and the speeder used as a getaway vehicle, and gets very smug when he gets to explain a minor yet key point of speeder mobility to Obi-Wan. They bicker, they banter, they just… hang out.

It’s like stepping back in time, before the gruelling pressure of the war. Even being stuck in the wheelchair isn’t that bad – Anakin kind of forgets after a while. It’s comfortable, being like this. Comfortable, and yet there’s a warm, fizzy feeling in his belly, something somehow deeply relaxing and oddly exciting about hanging out with Obi-Wan like this again. It must be the pressure of combat, Anakin thinks. They haven’t exactly had time to spend a relaxing afternoon squabbling over a HoloFilm, like they did in the way back when. For the first time in a long time, Anakin exhales.

It’s nice. It’s pleasant. It’s a damn sight better than rotting away in the Halls of Healing. There would be nothing to remark on if Obi-Wan weren’t acting kind of weird.

Which he is. Acting weird, and not just in that he’s being strangely gentle, and attentive, and nice to Anakin in a whatever you say sort of way, which is not Obi-Wan’s default setting.

He keeps staring at Anakin. Staring in a way he clearly thinks Anakin hasn’t noticed, but Obi-Wan has a hell of a stare, and Anakin can feel those laser beams on the back of his head. Staring at him on and off during the HoloFilm. Staring at him when he helps Anakin up after yet another nap. Staring at him when Anakin almost falls asleep again in his chair, head slipping on his hand, eyes blinking open to find Obi-Wan just… looking at him.

“What?” Anakin says.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. Smiles, but it isn’t a normal smile, something oddly bittersweet about it. “Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m good,” Anakin says. Obi-Wan’s face falls, and it takes Anakin a moment to figure out why. Anakin is always hungry. Anakin never turns down food, particularly food someone is offering to bring to him. “I mean, I guess a snack…”

Obi-Wan’s expression warms again. Oddly relieved, and it makes something swoop in Anakin’s belly. “I’ll bring you something.”

- - -

Cohabitating together again is surprisingly argument-free, given the circumstances. Anakin is too tired to be too ill-tempered about his current situation, and frequent napping puts a stopper on any arguments that are getting out of hand. Despite what some people seem to think, Anakin is quite capable of being reasonable.

“Now, Master, you will be nice to Master Obi-Wan, won’t you?” Ahsoka says, hands on her hips and accusations flying.

“I’m always nice, Snips.”

A scoff from the direction of the couch Obi-Wan is sitting on. Which Anakin gracefully ignores, thus proving his point.

“No picking fights,” Ahsoka says firmly, like she’s in any position to tell Anakin what to do. She’ll be a formidable Jedi some day, and Anakin is very proud of her, but right now she’s a gangly adolescent giving him the stink-eye when he hasn’t even done anything wrong. “Master Obi-Wan has taken time off specifically to help you out.”

“I had a lot of leave banked up–” Obi-Wan interjects.

At the same time, Anakin says, “He was off on missions the whole time I was unconsc–”

“Master Obi-Wan is taking care of you,” Ahsoka continues, “so you will be on your best behaviour, won’t you?”

Again, a snort from Obi-Wan’s direction.

“When did you get so stern?” Anakin says, rolling his eyes.

“I think someone has to be right now, Master,” Ahsoka says primly. Then promptly forgets about her newfound power trip when Obi-Wan offers her a hot chocolate and sugary biscuit, but she made a real attempt there.

Anakin and Obi-Wan are getting on fine, anyway. Which is kind of weird, given that bickering is their main mode of communication, but Anakin’s just rolling with it. There’s a different energy in Obi-Wan’s apartment, quieter, almost intimate, and he’s as loath to break it as Obi-Wan is. Besides, Anakin is an invalid; it’s not like Obi-Wan’s on his case about homework or tidying his room. For his part, Obi-Wan isn’t ordering Anakin about – he’s being so nice, uncharacteristically obliging. He seems almost… sad, but he jolts out of it when Anakin talks to him, so Anakin figures he’s fine. 

People call Anakin the moody one, but Obi-Wan’s always had his moments. Anakin has the hot temper between the two of them, but it’s Obi-Wan who gets all melancholy. His episodes are just less dramatic, and involve a lot of heavy sighs and wandering aimlessly about the apartment, punctuated by sessions of staring mournfully into half-drunk cups of tea (or something stronger; many a bottle has gone ‘missing’ from Obi-Wan’s secret cupboard stash, and may or may not have been poured down the sink).

So yeah, despite Ahsoka’s extremely unwarranted and premature scolding, Obi-Wan caretaking an injured Anakin is going fine, actually. Anakin monopolises the screen in the living room, and Obi-Wan wanders in and out in an endless rotation of different mugs. Obi-Wan cooks and cleans, and since Anakin can’t do much to help at present he provides critical moral support – “smells good!” and “remind me to take a look at that sink when my hand’s working again”. They even manage the more embarrassing aspects of Anakin being unable to operate independently just fine, though their strategy largely consists of pretending it isn’t happening while Obi-Wan puts Anakin’s socks on for him.

Honestly, Anakin’s only real complaint is Obi-Wan’s continuing refusal to watch Roommates with him.

“Come on, I promise you’ll like it,” Anakin says.

“That’s what you said about that horror film.”

“That was nearly ten years– are you ever gonna let that go?”

They’re fine. They’re good. No screaming fights, no silent treatment, no one losing their temper. Anakin is a grown man now, not a defiant adolescent – they’re equals, and it’s funny to reflect on how much has changed versus how much has stayed the same. The rhythm of their life is familiar, but the energy is different. Different in a way that makes Anakin’s chest feel funny, but he doesn’t really know what to make of that.

There is just one problem. A problem for Obi-Wan, obviously – Anakin is doing fine, and won’t be dissuaded from his course of action. The problem is that Anakin absolutely and categorically refuses to ask for help.

“Anakin, would you please just call me?” says a very flustered Obi-Wan, balancing a food tray with one hand and Anakin’s body weight with the other, trying to ease him safely back onto the bed.

“I can do it,” Anakin insists, ignoring the fact his head would have banged straight into the wall if Obi-Wan hadn’t lunged for him.

“There is,” Obi-Wan grunts, getting his legs into it. “A reason. You’re staying with me.” 

He can’t put the tray down without losing Anakin, and he can’t get Anakin up one-handed. They’re in a bit of a situation.

“Yeah, because Master Che’s totally unrea–” Anakin starts, but doesn’t get to finish.

He falls. Obi-Wan tosses the tray, and there’s the sound of breaking china. Anakin closes his eyes, bracing for impact, but it doesn’t come.

Obi-Wan catches him. At an awkward angle, all but diving to the floor to cushion Anakin’s head before it strikes anything hard. Anakin blinks at his face, too close, startled by this turn of events. Obi-Wan is a big believer in consequences, so the fact he’s chosen to break his own homewares rather than let Anakin get a well-deserved bump on the head is…

It’s weird, okay? It’s very, very weird. It isn’t like Obi-Wan at all. He’s being too nice to Anakin, and Anakin doesn’t know what to do with that.

“You are the most stubborn, infuriating–” Obi-Wan mutters, lifting Anakin safely back into his bed. “Would you please, for once in your life, be sensible?”

Now that is more normal. Obi-Wan being critical.

“I had it completely under control before you interrupted me,” Anakin snipes back.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs. He looks so tired, his hair falling out of its perfect coif. “Please. Just ask for help.”

Yeah, not happening. It doesn’t matter the situation or the circumstances, Anakin is not going to request assistance. Not from Obi-Wan. It isn’t spite and it isn’t stubbornness, and so what if the one thing he asked Obi-Wan to do for him – namely, not leaving him alone – Obi-Wan failed to do. Anakin isn’t bitter about it.

But he’s fine. He can operate independently, even if he’s slower than usual. He doesn’t need anything, and he isn’t going to resort to the indignity of asking.

Anakin has got this.

After his next nap (and seriously, how many naps does an adult human need? He was catastrophically wounded, past tense. He’s doing great now) Anakin makes a dent in the fresh tray of food Obi-Wan has left on his bedside table. He isn’t actually that hungry, but Obi-Wan goes all limp and does his patented sad eyebrows if Anakin doesn’t eat his snacks, so Anakin makes the effort. Then, he transfers himself into his wheelchair (he’s got the strategy down), and carries on with his day.

Obi-Wan sighs when Anakin wheels himself out of his bedroom with the tray balanced awkwardly on his lap. Rushes to take it from him, even though Anakin is doing an excellent job and has only almost lost another load of china. Then Obi-Wan sighs again when Anakin makes for the front door, fully intending to go at it alone.

Forget the Negotiator, they should call him the Sigher. It isn’t Anakin’s best zinger, though, so he keeps it to himself.

“I can go by myself, it’s only a Healer appointment,” Anakin says, opening the door with the Force and jetting towards it as fast as he can manage. “I’ll be back soon.”

“No you don’t,” Obi-Wan says grimly, throwing his cleaning cloth onto the bench and hastening after him. “You can’t wheel yourself that far.”

“Can too.”

Anakin’s wit appears to have suffered for the blow to the head, he will say that. Suffice to say he doesn’t win this particular argument, and Obi-Wan insists on pushing him, which Anakin only allows under sufferance (he is tired, even though all he’s done is get out of bed). Obi-Wan escorts him to his appointment and home again, hovering relentlessly, which Anakin did not ask him to do. Anakin also doesn’t ask him to help him get back into bed again, even though he’s sagging in his chair and not sure he’ll be able to make it by himself.

He’s Anakin Skywalker. He can do this. He can do anything, and he doesn’t need help, not from anyone. Obi-Wan can leave him, and he’ll be fine. He will.

“Come on,” Obi-Wan says, all but picking Anakin up this time when he transfers him. That is not the proper method, Anakin wants to point out. There are no princess carries in the Halls of Healing, only safe and tested manual handling practices. Looks like someone hasn’t been listening to Master Che, and this time it isn’t Anakin.

“I can do it,” is what Anakin actually mumbles. He’s gone all loose and heavy, his head tipping against Obi-Wan’s chest. Obi-Wan sets him down with his head on the pillow, swinging Anakin’s still-useless legs in after him with gentle hands. He even pulls the blankets up over him, which Anakin could have done. Really he could. Even though they’re so far away.

“Go to sleep, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs.

Anakin blinks up at him. Hazy, eyelids heavy, and he sees the moment Obi-Wan stops breathing. Watches, too tired to analyse, as Obi-Wan swallows, eyes darting away from the eye contact on instinct, only to be forced back through what is undoubtedly sheer force of will. Anakin knows; he knows what Obi-Wan looks like when he schools himself. Knows, too, what Obi-Wan’s eyes look like when he’s pushing through something that hurts.

Anakin doesn’t understand him sometimes. Doesn’t understand why Obi-Wan looks like he’s in pain.

“Don’t go,” Anakin murmurs without meaning to, exhaustion pulling at what little filter he has.

Obi-Wan blinks, the movement rapid. Then he just looks at Anakin, silent. Heavy, thoughtful, eyes tracing and tracing Anakin’s face like he’s memorising him, his hand reaching out as if to brush Anakin’s hair back from his face.

He doesn’t. Because Anakin smiles, and Obi-Wan’s expression shutters without warning. He jerks his hands back. Turns away, spine straight and stiff.

“Rest well. I’ll be in the other room,” Obi-Wan says, and hastens out of there.

Weird, Anakin thinks. Followed quickly by a pang of bitterness. Can’t ask him for anything.

He’s too tired to be angry about it for long.

- - -

Anakin doesn’t need Obi-Wan. Anakin doesn’t need help, invalid or not. Anakin has got this.

His legs? They’re back, though he’s still not allowed to bear weight on them. His hand? He’s sorted that too, effectively hotwiring his own prosthetic in a temporary but good-enough-for-now fix. His boredom?

Okay, that one’s dicier. Anakin can’t stand being cooped up, and he’s officially reached the point where he isn’t napping as often but isn’t yet permitted to cruise around unsupervised, so the stir-craziness is making a comeback. But he has Ahsoka for that. She comes to visit in between her exams, and she’s got him into a great new holodrama. She’s also set up a board game they would never usually have time for on Obi-Wan’s kitchen table, with lots of wooden pieces and tactical decisions that Anakin is calling ‘training’, and strategising his next victory keeps Anakin occupied enough.

He doesn’t need Obi-Wan. Not even when Anakin is at his most vulnerable. Accepting help is one thing, need another thing entirely. Anakin didn’t need Obi-Wan on the transport, or in the medical suite, or in the Halls of Healing. Didn’t need Obi-Wan to hold his hand, anchoring him and comforting him as he lay dying. He didn’t need him when he was hurt, and he doesn’t need him now. 

(Anakin still doesn’t remember his two weeks in the hospital, and Master Che says he probably won’t. But he remembers flashes prior to being taken onto the transport. Remembers waking after the explosion, dazed and disoriented. Bodies, screaming, numbness. His own mind fixated on one thing: Obi-Wan. Calling and calling with what little voice he had left, vision darkening, bleeding out. Obi-Wan. Animal instinct, because if Obi-Wan came to him he’d be all right. If Obi-Wan came he was safe. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan.

Blue-grey eyes. A hand holding his. “I’m here, Anakin. I’ve got you.”

Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Don’t go.)

There’s a burning feeling in the pit of Anakins’ belly, heat in his cheeks at the memory, and he shoves it away. Anakin doesn’t need him. He doesn’t. Obi-Wan doesn’t need Anakin, and Anakin doesn’t need him. And, as if to prove it, Anakin throws himself into greater independence.

“Anakin, please,” Obi-Wan snaps.

“What?” Anakin says, levitating a knife into his hand with the Force. “I want cheese.”

“I will cut you cheese.” 

Anakin defies anyone else in the galaxy to have delivered that particular sentence with that much drama. Honestly, Obi-Wan calls him theatrical.

“Anakin, are you all right in there?” comes the next round of complaints from outside the refresher door.

“Yes,” Anakin says, taking a break from shaving to yell back. Turns out it’s hard to see his reflection from the wheelchair. It’s a good thing Anakin doesn’t need to shave often.

“I heard a crash.”

Anakin winces. “I’m fine.”

He’s got some shampoo to clean up, but how hard can it be to get off the tiles while seated?

“Anakin, just tell me when you want a nap,” Obi-Wan hisses later still, right at the edge of his patience as he levers Anakin safely onto the bed. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

It was a good catch on his part. Fast reflexes. Not that Anakin is going to congratulate him on it.

“I can manage,” Anakin snaps back. The best thing about wheelchairs? Less distance to fall. (Worst thing is still the wheelchair falling on top of him, but you know. He’s fine.)

Obi-Wan’s strained expression is becoming a near-permanent fixture. He’s also getting increasingly paranoid, following Anakin around the apartment and watching him with the sharp focus of a bird of prey, barging in at random moments to make sure Anakin isn’t doing something inadvisable.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Obi-Wan demands, over and over, and Anakin doesn’t dignify that with a response.

He’s got this. He’s got everything under control. 

Right up until he doesn’t.

Everything seems to happen at once, as is the usual method when something in Anakin’s life goes wrong. Never a slow trickle, always a flood. Anakin is managing the basics of self-care, eating and sleeping and attending to his more private bodily functions using the equipment the Healers gave him, with no assistance required. He’s awake a near-normal amount now, needing only a brief rest in the middle of the day. Obi-Wan is still sleeping in the living room, but he’ll have his personal, private bedroom back any day now.

It’s all going well. Right up until it isn’t. Anakin has an appointment with Master Che, and he isn’t making the progress she’s expecting, which leads to another round of treatment that he wasn’t anticipating. The injections leave him feeling tired and sick, and the ban on, you know, standing up is extended. Anakin’s hotfix of his prosthetic arm gives out, leaving him with gross movement but no fine motor control. Worse still, whatever Master Che gives him to stimulate his nerve endings works a little too well. Suddenly, his legs are more than tingling on and off. His whole nervous system starts firing, and not in a good way. Suddenly, Anakin is in pain.

It’s a constant throb, both burning and aching at once. It makes it hard to concentrate, hard to smile. Hard to stay optimistic, when it goes on and on and none of the painkillers the Healers give him fix it.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says quietly. “Do you need help?”

Anakin shakes his head. Doesn’t bother with a verbal reply – he already knows it won’t sound convincing. He’s pale as a ghost, his eyes dull with pain, laboriously wheeling himself in the direction of the refresher.

He needs a wash. He feels dirty, and his hair is greasy, but the mere thought of mustering enough energy to bathe himself…

Anakin swallows, his throat tight. He’s been giving himself sponge baths for days, but it’s not the same. He can clean the critical bits that way, but what he can’t clean is his hair. And now his prosthetic’s abandoned him, he’s not even sure he’ll be able to manage the basics.

He can’t do it. But he has to. There isn’t another way.

Anakin is exhausted by the time he’s fought his way out of his clothes. His legs hurt, and even moving them with his hands makes pain spark all the way up his spine. By the time he’s naked, Anakin’s breathing is unsteady, his good hand trembling while his damaged prosthetic lies limp in his lap.

He looks at the shower cubicle, at the as-yet-unused shower chair Obi-Wan keeps setting up for him. I can do it, I can transfer myself, he’d kept saying only a few hours before. He looks at the washcloth, his back-up plan, but even sponging himself is too much. He’s too tired. It won’t fix the problem anyway; his hair needs a proper wash, let alone the rest of him. He feels dirty, grimy in a way that his own hand and a damp rag won’t fix. He wants to be clean, wants to feel better.

He can’t do it. Not by himself. 

He can’t do it.

After a few minutes, Anakin wipes the moisture from his cheeks. Swallows, pulling his washcloth into his naked lap to protect what remains of his dignity. Mortified, ashamed, even when he hasn’t actually done it yet.

“Obi-Wan?” he calls. His voice is so small, choked. Obi-Wan hears him anyway.

“You all right?” Obi-Wan says, his footsteps approaching the refresher door.

“Can you help me, please?” Anakin whispers. The door opens. Anakin’s throat goes tight again, and he swallows, unable to look up.

Finally he sees reason, he’s expecting Obi-Wan to say. Or something glib and sarcastic, like why Anakin, I think we’re seeing too much of each other.

Obi-Wan doesn’t. Anakin feels his gaze on him, and adjusts the washcloth, like that’ll even help. He’s completely nude, the rest of his body on full display. Exposed, and vulnerable, and naked.  

It’s humiliation, total and complete.

“I won’t look, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs. Kind enough, and matter-of-fact, but his body language is stiff and formal. Obi-Wan is both a flirt and a prude, but Anakin doesn’t have it in him to laugh at him.

He just nods. Head bowed, shoulders hunched. Curling in on himself in a futile effort to preserve his modesty.

Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything. It’s quiet between them, despite the heat in Anakin’s cheeks. Obi-Wan just… turns on the water. Anakin can hear him adjusting the temperature, making sure it will neither burn nor freeze Anakin before Obi-Wan turns the tap off again temporarily. He tests the stability of the shower chair, repositioning it on the tiles, then wheels Anakin into the narrow cubicle.

Just like that. Like this is a thing they do, the only logical step forward, not making a big deal of it. Practical, necessary.

Anakin is still humiliated. 

There is no ideal way for Obi-Wan to help him into the shower. There isn’t a lot of space, and they’re both grown men. Obi-Wan is trying to get Anakin’s wheelchair into the appropriate position for a transfer, and engage its locks, and preserve Anakin’s modesty, all at the same time. He is aggressively not looking, practically making a show of it, but it doesn’t make Anakin feel any better. Doesn’t change the fact that Anakin is completely bare before him, in more ways than one.

Anakin swallows, twisting his fingers into the washcloth in his lap. There’s no avoiding memory, no matter how much he wishes he could. It was Obi-Wan he called for as he lay dying. Obi-Wan he wanted in his most vulnerable state. Obi-Wan his fading mind clung to, begged for, cried out to, his heart as naked then as his body is now. 

A dying Anakin begged for him, and they both know it. Begged for Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan only, no one else. It’s the final humiliation. More mortifying even than being naked, unable to bathe himself, unable to do anything without help. Needing a man who doesn’t need him back.

Obi-Wan is so close now. His hands on Anakin’s exposed skin, moving him one way then another. He pulls Anakin’s aching, burning legs into position, pausing at Anakin’s sharp inhale. 

Anakin can’t look at him. Shuts his eyes, waiting out the pain. He can feel Obi-Wan watching him, gaze piercing as ever, but he doesn’t have it in him to answer. Slowly, Obi-Wan continues moving him. He’s even more careful, and his caution is painful in a different way entirely, his big hands warm on Anakin’s skin.

“I’m turning on the water now,” Obi-Wan says, pushing the wheelchair out of the way once he’s gotten Anakin into the shower chair. “Do you… need help with anything else?”

Hesitation. Discomfort. Obi-Wan still not looking while realistically having no choice but to look, a convenient fiction for the both of them.

“No,” Anakin forces his mouth to say. He’s so tired and in pain, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to raise his arms long enough to wash his hair. He can’t do it, but he has to. He has to.

Obi-Wan is quiet a long, long moment. But rather than leave, he exhales. Kneels down on the cold bathroom tiles so he’s looking up at Anakin, into his face. 

He’s so close. Anakin can feel his warmth, feel his breath, count every freckle on his skin and fleck in his blue-grey eyes. Anakin can’t meet his gaze, not like this, but he can still feel Obi-Wan’s heavy stare. The way Obi-Wan traces his features, tilting his head so he can see Anakin’s expression better.

“Are you in pain?” Obi-Wan says. He’s using that tone again, strained, conciliatory. Gentle, in a way Anakin isn’t accustomed to from such a quick-witted, sarcastic man.

“‘M fine,” Anakin mumbles.

Obi-Wan smiles, just a curve at the corner of his lips. “Perhaps the truth, this time.”

Anakin looks away. Angry, fighting back a stinging in his eyes, so exposed and vulnerable and he hates this, he hates everything. Can’t speak, can’t give any more of himself away.

“Anakin, I’ll help you, if only you’ll let me.”

I don’t need you, Anakin wants to say. Just go.

But there’s something about Obi-Wan’s voice that pulls Anakin up. Some unidentified emotion, something almost vulnerable, even though Obi-Wan is armed and abled-bodied and fully-dressed. He reaches out as if to touch Anakin, but stops himself. Awaiting permission.

He waits.

Waits.

Waits.

“I can’t– I don’t think I can… reach,” Anakin mumbles, gesturing in the direction of his hair.

“Then let me do it,” Obi-Wan says.

An offer. Anakin didn’t have to ask. It’s some relief, at least.

“Okay.”

“Yes?” Obi-Wan says – it’s an odd thing to say, like he’s double-checking Anakin’s consent. His attention is intense, piercing eyes still fixed on Anakin’s face.

“Yes,” Anakin confirms.

“I won’t look,” Obi-Wan promises again. More weirdness, because Obi-Wan isn’t famous for repeating himself, but Obi-Wan’s been weird ever since Anakin was injured. Anakin is getting used to not knowing what to make of it.

Without further ado, Obi-Wan gets to it. Helping Anakin bathe.

There really is no easy way to do it. Obi-Wan tries turning the water on at low pressure, contorting like a serpent in an effort to avoid getting wet, but the space isn’t big enough. In the end, Obi-Wan gives up. Strips off his outer layers, as matter-of-fact about that as he was about walking into the refresher in the first place. He takes off his tabards, tunic and undershirts, layer by layer.

For a moment, Anakin watches. Takes in his pale, freckled skin and the hair on his chest, the tight muscle of his torso and arms and the small layer of fat on his belly that softens his strength. That makes him touchable, warm, like you could hold him against you and he’d be both strong and soft, not cold and sharp and foreign but solid and steady and welcoming –

Anakin looks away. Cheeks hot, but for a different reason this time. He hunches even further in on himself, closing his eyes when they threaten to drift.

Obi-Wan strips to his waist then gets into the refresher cubicle, clearly deciding to just let his pants get soaked as he steps into position behind Anakin.

“I’m turning the water on,” he announces, like Anakin hadn’t figured that one out.

The energy is strange in here. That’s hardly a surprise, in the abstract – Anakin and Obi-Wan aren’t a duo famous for bathing each other, an act of intimacy far beyond the usual boundaries between Jedi and fellow generals. But it’s a different kind of strangeness than the painful sort of awkwardness one might expect. Strange in that... it isn’t actually that strange at all, when Anakin stops choking on the shame of it. It's an extension of this new energy between them, the warm, breathless, frightening thing that’s come from living in Obi-Wan’s apartment and sleeping in his bed.

Anakin tips his head back. Opens his eyes, afraid of what he might see. All he finds is Obi-Wan looking back.

Obi-Wan is very careful as he washes Anakin’s hair. His strong, callused hands are gentle, and he tilts Anakin’s head this way and that, avoiding getting soap in his eyes. Anakin is still tired, in pain, embarrassed, but the relief of being clean overrides all of that. He relaxes into Obi-Wan’s grip. Lets Obi-Wan move him as he likes, the heat of the water and the gentleness of his hands lulling Anakin even through the totality of his own vulnerability.

I’m not looking, Obi-Wan keeps saying, even though the circumstances render that impossible. Maybe what he’s really saying is I’m not judging you, not in any way, or for any of this.

It helps.

Obi-Wan steps out of the shower once he’s washed the conditioner out of Anakin’s hair, but only to give Anakin some semblance of privacy as he washes more intimate areas. Under normal circumstances, Anakin would probably laugh at the tableau – Obi-Wan, hair wet and pants drenched, standing in the corner of the refresher and facing directly into a wall. The absurdity of their situation doesn’t escape Anakin. But getting clean doesn’t feel as impossible now Obi-Wan’s done most of the work and the pain-sweat’s been washed away.

Taking a breath, Anakin removes the washcloth from its place covering his lap, a fresh wave of embarrassment sweeping over him, but Obi-Wan doesn’t turn around. Stays dripping in the corner, happy to look like a fool if it means preserving Anakin’s dignity. He won’t turn, not without Anakin’s express permission. Won’t look. Won’t judge.

Trust is a fragile thing for Anakin. But he trusts, and Obi-Wan doesn’t use it to hurt him.

He sets the washcloth back in his lap once he’s finished cleaning himself. Turns the tap off – with the Force, he doesn’t bother trying to twist. He shivers, rapidly cooling down, double-checking his modesty before he gives Obi-Wan the all-clear.

“You can turn around now,” Anakin says.

Again, Obi-Wan doesn’t make a big deal of it. He just fetches Anakin’s towel.

It doesn’t feel as bad now, any of it. Obi-Wan scrubs the water out of Anakin’s hair, and Anakin finds it in himself to laugh, the burn of humiliation slowly fading away. It isn’t a shameful secret, but it isn’t coldly clinical either; it’s just another layer to everything they are. Now Anakin is clean, the galaxy doesn’t look so bad after all, his tears all but forgotten. Shame is giving way to regular embarrassment, which is giving way to the kind of head-shaking humour that embarrassment often inspires, which is giving way to something like… gratitude.

“I have no idea what to do with this,” Obi-Wan mutters, his focus entirely on the logistics of styling Anakin’s hair. Just… looking after him. Not caring about the rest.

Anakin can’t meet his gaze. But this, too, is different this time around. His chest feels warm.

“Just scrunch it in,” he says. “No, scrunch.”

He curls his flesh hand into a claw, trying to demonstrate what he means. Obi-Wan and his dead-straight hair look baffled – he was no help whatsoever when Anakin’s curls grew in, and Anakin wandered around looking like he’d been electrocuted before a HoloNet tutorial came to the rescue – but Obi-Wan does his best to follow instructions.

He’s being very good about this, really. And it occurs to Anakin that maybe, just maybe, this is Obi-Wan’s way of balancing the scales. Anakin may be an invalid, and he may need help performing the basic tasks of life, but he isn’t powerless. Or, perhaps more accurately, Obi-Wan won’t take power from him. Won’t leverage his own strengths while Anakin is vulnerable, even in the form of sassy remarks.

Anakin… Anakin needs him. He didn’t want to need him, didn’t want to need anyone. But maybe, since it’s Obi-Wan, it isn’t so bad.

Anakin ends up being put to bed again after his shower, but even that he doesn’t mind. Obi-Wan helps him pull a tunic over his head then wheels him into the living room, dripping pants and all. Obi-Wan ducks back into the refresher again, but only so he can shed his wet pants before he does permanent damage to the carpet, pulling on a bathrobe to cover himself then pushing Anakin into the bedroom.

They make quite a pair, Anakin thinks. Him in a tunic and nothing else, his hair already doing that tell-tale fluffy thing that indicates Obi-Wan’s styling technique leaves much to be desired. For his part, Obi-Wan is in full practical mode, which is significantly funnier than usual given that he’s sporting a comfortable bathrobe and damp hair that’s fallen into total disarray, his stoic elegance nowhere in sight.

Obi-Wan is… here. Here, with Anakin. He stayed. On the battlefield, on the transport, in the Halls of Healing. He’s here now, not saying a word about it, apparently ‘on leave’ despite the war going on.

Anakin isn’t stupid – Obi-Wan shouldn’t be. And Anakin is finally ready to acknowledge that it... well. That it means something. 

“There we are,” Obi-Wan says, pulling the blankets over Anakin’s still-aching legs and tucking him into bed. Into Obi-Wan’s bed. “Do you need anything else?”

“No,” Anakin says, automatic. But he’s never been good at tempering his impulses. When an idea occurs to him, he just does it. Goes with it. Believes it, when the thought occurs, even when maybe he shouldn’t.

It’s just the way Obi-Wan is looking at him. With those blue-grey eyes, like he’d do anything Anakin asked of him, anything at all.

And Anakin kisses him. Spontaneous, reckless. He doesn’t even know he’s going to do it before he’s done it. Doesn’t even know why he’s done it before it’s already come to pass. He just reaches for Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan leans in, so Anakin kisses him. On the lips. Just like that.

It is, to put it mildly, a surprise to both of them.

Obi-Wan freezes. Stares at Anakin when Anakin pulls back, shocked, his body stiff and strained and still. His eyes search Anakin’s face, a thousand thoughts flashing through his ever-piercing eyes, only for his jaw to firm.

Anakin, what are you thinking of? Anakin thinks he’ll say. Stop it, Anakin. Go away.

Instead, it’s Anakin’s turn to be surprised. Because Obi-Wan kneels by his bedside, but only so he can kiss Anakin better, taking Anakin’s flesh hand in both of his own.

A flash of memory. Stay with me. Stay with me. Don’t go. But in Obi-Wan’s voice, not Anakin’s own.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his voice rough. He looks so tired, so drained. So yielding. He presses his lips to Anakin’s hand like he can’t help it. Cradles it against his face, letting out a shaky breath. “Anakin, are you sure?”

There is a weight to that question, a depth Anakin hasn’t even begun to contemplate. But Anakin isn’t known for second-guessing himself. “Are you?”

Obi-Wan breaks eye contact. Closes his eyes, Anakin’s hand still held to his face. “I almost lost you. I… realised some things.”

There are a lot of things Anakin could say to that. A lot of things they’re definitely going to have to talk about, knowing Obi-Wan. But Anakin is so tired, and there’s only one thing he wants to ask. The last time, perhaps, he’ll ever ask it, depending on Obi-Wan’s reply.

“Stay with me?”

Obi-Wan exhales. But this time… he says yes.

Careful, his movements a little uncertain, he climbs onto the bed beside Anakin. Startles when Anakin burrows in immediately, setting his head on Obi-Wan’s chest. Impulsive as ever, all-in, not inclined to waiting. Obi-Wan’s hands hover with the energy of a man at a museum who isn’t sure he’s allowed to be touching the exhibits, despite the signs expressly granting permission, and it’s possible Anakin has moved things way too fast.

He doesn’t regret it. Not when Obi-Wan’s arms come up, warm and strong, stroking cautious fingers through Anakin’s damp hair. Handling him so carefully, in a way Obi-Wan never is, as though Anakin is fragile, or precious. Handling him like he would a wild bird that’s landed on his outstretched hand.

“I’m so tired,” Anakin murmurs, relaxing into the embrace.

“Go to sleep,” Obi-Wan murmurs back, something tender in it, but Anakin doesn’t have time to focus on that. Instead, a new thought occurs. One that washes everything else away.

“Does this mean you’ll watch Roommates with me?” Anakin says.

Anakin feels it when Obi-Wan laughs, the motion vibrating through his chest. “You’re obsessed with that show, you know that?”

“It’s funny,” Anakin mumbles, too tired to advertise it any better. “You’ll like it.”

“You, my darling, are incorrigible,” Obi-Wan says, the endearment tentative on his tongue. He’s tense, nervous despite his teasing, but the tension drains out of him when Anakin doesn’t object. When Anakin just blinks sleepy eyes up at him, lips curving into a smile. “Well. If you insist.”

Anakin is still heartbroken about the ending of Roommates, for the record. The end of a chapter, the end of an era. The end of a stage in his life, whether or not other people understood what it meant to him.

The sting of it fades. Because while it’s true that it’s ended, he can start again from the beginning. With Obi-Wan, this time.

With something new.