Chapter Text
Anakin carried the older Jedi into his room, careful to avoid jostling her injured ankle, and gently set her down on the bed. The mattress, soft and yielding, cradled her weight as she sank into its memory foam surface. The faint scent of disinfectant lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy undertones of the bacta salve in his medkit. The room itself was modest, lit by the warm glow of a single overhead lamp, with a small closet built into one corner and sparse decorations save for a few personal trinkets on the desk.
"How're you holding up?" Anakin asked, his voice calm as he crouched by the closet, rummaging for supplies. Luminara grimaced, turning her head away to face the wall. Her arms folded tightly across her stomach as though she could contain her frustration. "I'm soaking your bedsheets," she muttered, her tone tinged with regret.
Anakin retrieved a small medkit and approached the bedside. His footsteps were quiet on the carpeted floor. "Mm, didn't ask," he quipped with a teasing lilt, opening the kit and pulling out a strip of bacta-soaked gauze. His gaze dropped to her ankle, now swollen and mottled with a dark green hue. The sight made him wince internally, but he masked it with a calm demeanour. "Well, this is what I get for cutting loose," Luminara sighed, a note of sarcasm escaping her otherwise measured tone.
Kneeling by her side, Anakin worked with steady hands, carefully wrapping the gauze around her injury. His touch was firm but gentle, and his movements practised. She tensed for a moment, then exhaled a soft sigh of relief as the cooling bacta began to work its magic. "Don't talk like that, Luminara," Anakin chided softly, his tone unusually earnest.
Setting the gauze aside, he poured a small vial of bacta into his hands and warmed it between his palms. Luminara quirked a brow, curious about his next move, but said nothing. He clasped his hands around her ankle and began a methodical massage, using his fingers to coax blood flow back into the injured area. Her initial discomfort gave way to audible sighs of relief, and she allowed herself to relax for the first time.
"You're good with your hands," she murmured, her voice quiet but sincere. A faint smile tugged at Anakin's lips. "Careful," he replied with a playful glint in his eye. "Outside listeners could get the wrong idea."
The comment drew a bright flush to Luminara's cheeks. "I didn't mean it like that," she retorted softly, averting her gaze.
"I know," he reassured her, the teasing note fading into a gentler tone. "I'm just messing with you. Ahsoka used to get injured all the time—usually joint stuff. I had to learn how to patch her up." His hands continued their work, his focus unwavering.
"What was she to you?" Luminara asked, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity.
Anakin froze for a moment, his hands still against her skin as memories flickered through his mind. "Barriss was my daughter. Who was Ahsoka to you?" she clarified, sensing his hesitation.
Anakin resumed his motions, slower this time, his voice quieter. "My little sister," he admitted. "If I was upset, she was upset. When I smiled, she smiled. She was always there, even when things got... rough." His words carried a deep affection that softened his usual guardedness.
Luminara felt her heart warm at his candour. The tenderness in his voice was a stark contrast to the brash warrior she had come to know. She flexed her foot experimentally, noting the return of blood flow and a reduction in the pain. Though tender, the ankle felt significantly better.
"And that would make Kenobi your father?" she asked, her tone light but curious.
Anakin shook his head, a faint shadow crossing his features. "No," he replied firmly. "Qui-Gon was my father."
The mention of Qui-Gon brought a flicker of emotion to his face—grief, perhaps, or something deeper. Luminara studied him for a moment, sensing the unspoken weight of his memories.
"I see," she said softly, offering him a small, understanding smile. "So, Kenobi's your elder brother, then." Anakin glanced up at her, his expression lightening. "Yeah," he replied, the corners of his lips curving upward. "That sounds about right."
Later in the day, the two Jedi found themselves lounging on the couch, watching random sitcoms on the holonet. It was a rare, almost surreal opportunity to experience a slice of civilian life. For Jedi, such moments were fleeting and foreign. The Order had always moulded them as agents of the Republic—lawmen, warriors, servants of the Senate. Civilians existed in a different world, one they were tasked to protect but rarely allowed to join.
On the couch, Anakin and Luminara sat at opposite ends, a respectful distance maintained between them. Their shared awareness of decorum around the opposite gender made the arrangement feel slightly contrived. Yet, neither seemed eager to change it. The occasional brush of their feet—followed by quiet, almost sheepish apologies—softened the atmosphere. For now, they weren't General Skywalker and Master Unduli, or atoner and victim. They were just two people, sharing a moment of normalcy. Friends, perhaps even good friends.
Anakin found his gaze drifting toward Luminara, his focus wavering from the holoscreen. Something about the way her toned arms rested casually on the couch, or how her breathing caused the fabric of her tank top to shift, caught his attention. It struck him how different she seemed in this relaxed state—so far from the stoic, disciplined warrior he was accustomed to. There was a natural grace about her, an effortless elegance even in her casual attire. He couldn't help but wonder: was this the real Luminara?
"You're staring, Anakin," she said suddenly, her gaze still fixed on the holoscreen.
He jolted slightly, heat rising to his face. To cover his embarrassment, he quickly quipped, "Your hair's a mess."
Luminara raised an eyebrow, lightly fingering one of her locks. "Yes, it's overdue for a retwist," she admitted, her tone thoughtful. "I haven't had time to maintain it properly."
Before he could think twice, Anakin blurted out, "I could do it for you."
She turned to him, surprised. "You know how to retwist my type of hair?"
Anakin shrugged, leaning back into the couch. "I've picked up a few things here and there. Barriss needed help with hers sometimes. She taught me a bit when we were padawans."
Luminara regarded him for a moment, her surprise softening into something gentler. "That's...unexpected. But kind of you."
He smiled, leaning forward again. "Well, I can't have you walking around looking like you just rolled out of bed, can I?"
A faint chuckle escaped her lips as she nodded. "Alright, Skywalker. Let's see if your skills match your confidence."
As Anakin moved to sit behind her, mindful to not get too comfortable or close. There was a subtle shift in the air settled between them, a heat rising in Anakin's breath that tickled Luminara's neck. What began as a casual offer now felt heavier, more intimate. As he carefully parted her hair, fingers working with practised precision, Luminara closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax. Trust, she realized, was a rare commodity in her life. And yet, in this moment, she found herself giving it freely. Unlike Barriss who usually did this, Anakin's fingers were nimble enough to cause any pain or uncomfortable tugging. Not to discredit the former student, but to emphasize Anakin's skill.
For Anakin, the task was oddly grounding. The quiet rhythm of his work, the feel of her hair beneath his hands—it all reminded him of simpler times of his younger years. Times when the war hadn't consumed so much of who he was. But as he glanced down at Luminara, he also recognized that this wasn't the same. This was something different, something new.
He noticed that she dragged down her tank top to more easily cover her back. This had the unexpected effect of revealing her cleavage, again captivating the young man. Out of respect, he refrained from indulging anymore that he already had.
However, little did he know Luminara did not mind his gaze, infact she slowly began to crave it.
When he finished, Luminara turned slightly to glance over her shoulder. "Well?" she asked, a faint, innocent smirk playing on her lips.
"Perfect," he replied, grinning. "You look like a Jedi Master again."
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Thank you, Anakin."
It was a simple exchange, but the warmth lingering between them spoke volumes. For a brief moment, the weight of their titles, their duties, and the galaxy's chaos melted away. And in its place was somet
hing profoundly sentient.
Connection.
Words 1464
Posted 27/12/2024