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“Councillor Kenobi. May I have this dance?”
Obi-Wan looks up from his drink - and right into Jedi Knight Skywalker's smiling face. Stars, it's unfair, the way the boy's eyes sparkle when he looks at someone like that. And Obi-Wan isn't usually one to flatter himself, but he thinks Anakin's been looking at him 'like that' rather more often than at anyone else lately - he may or may not have kept count.
You're stalling, one part of his mind whispers to him, and yes, of course he is stalling. After all, is it really appropriate for a Jedi to ask a politician of the planet he just finalised a treaty with to dance?
It isn't. Obi-Wan's fellow politicians, however, do not seem to think so.
"Of course Obi-Wan would be happy to dance with you, my dear," Lor'lei, chief Councillor of the transport department and thus a regular comrade in arms to Obi-Wan's agricultural department, chirps as she takes Obi-Wan's drink and nudges him closer to Anakin. "In fact, he'd love to."
And where's the lie? Obi-Wan doesn't even have to force a smile on his face as he accepts Anakin's proffered hand - it comes freely and easily. "Yes, I would. Thank you, Knight Skywalker."
"You honour me, Councillor." And from the way he says it - from the way he holds Obi-Wan's hand oh-so delicately as he leads him onto the dancefloor - Obi-Wan knows Anakin means it.
With his free hand, he bunches up his floor-length tunic and lifts its hem so he can take the step onto the dancefloor without stumbling. Stewjoni highland fashion, with its loose flowy cuts and generous layers of patterned fabric, is perfectly adapted to the endless windswept plains of grass from whence the ancestor's of Obi-Wan's unknown parents hailed - but very little to the bureaucratic buildings and ballrooms of Stewjon's lowland capital, with their grand stairs and broad arches of heavyset masonry. Still, he manages a warm, an honest "Likewise" in response to Anakin's kind remark.
It seems to satisfy Anakin, who's carving them a way between the couples already on the dancefloor. There are but few - humans, a few Twi'leks, a Togruta, other individuals of alien species who call Stewjon their home - but Stewjon is a small planet, and its dancefloor reflects that, even in the capital government building, so it's really quite crammed. Obi-Wan lets himself be led along to a spot that's currently unoccupied, near a pillar beside which a live band is playing a slow, solemn tune. There, Anakin turns to him and lets go of his hand to grab gently onto Obi-Wan's waist instead.
Behind Anakin’s back, Councillor Lor’lei gives Obi-Wan a victorious grin and a thumbs-up, her dark blue lekku quivering with smothered laughter. Obi-Wan doesn’t dare roll his eyes at her, lest Anakin notice.
Alright, maybe he’s been pining after the handsome Jedi Knight. And maybe he’s been doing so for days already, ever since Anakin arrived to lead the trade negotiations with Stewjon’s Council. But how was he supposed to know that his former Padawan learner would grow up into such a beautiful, charming, competent man? Granted, he remembers Anakin already being cute as a button when Qui-Gon first picked him up on Tatooine - but the sulky, gangly pre-teen Obi-Wan left behind when he exited the Order in a fit of despair couldn’t have been farther apart from Anakin right now.
Anakin, who's leaning in as he sways them gently to the beat of the music. Anakin, whose eyes keep flickering downwards painfully conspicuously to track Obi-Wan's lips among his meticulously trimmed and braided beard. Anakin, who's opening his lovely pink mouth and bringing it close, very close up against Obi-Wan's ear.
"I may have made a mistake," he whispers. "I don't know what the kriff I'm doing."
Obi-Wan feels a frown crawl onto his face. Second thoughts? Really, now? After they conducted days-long negotiations, travelled the planet to inspect its resources, finally signed the treaty?
He's about to pull back and ask Anakin in a not-so-polite way to elaborate - every politician's patience has their breaking point, former Jedi or not - when Anakin continues. And what he says bathes everything in a new light.
"I don't actually know how to dance," he murmurs, hot moist breath brushing the shell of Obi-Wan's ear in a way that makes him shiver, "I never learned how to. I just wanted go get us some privacy, and now-"
Relief makes it easier to breathe. Obi-Wan hears it lighten his voice as he asks, "Would you like me to take the lead?"
"Please," Anakin breathes, and if Obi-Wan's been thinking he himself sounds relieved, then Anakin sounds like the weight of the galaxy just got lifted off his shoulders. "That would be great."
So, Obi-Wan takes Anakin's hands off his waist, leads one to lie on his shoulder and grips the other firmly. In beat with the music, he starts leading Anakin across the dancefloor - nothing too fancy, just a simple series of steps Anakin should be able to pick up on intuitively. Back, forth, sideways, centre, sideways, forth, back.
Anakin follows like a dream, and soon he starts really leaning into the movements, swaying his hips to the beat.
"You're doing well, Anakin," Obi-Wan praises.
"Thank you - Councillor." And maybe it's just the light, but Obi-Wan thinks he sees a light blush dusting Anakin's cheeks after that almost-slip.
He smiles. What an odd couple they must make, Anakin in his sober black-and-maroon Jedi robes and with his short wavy locks curling at the nape of his neck, Obi-Wan himself in his Stewjoni highland finery, his shoulder-length hair plaited into elaborate braids with beads and ribbons. They could not be more different - and yet, they were once one and the same. Before Obi-Wan realised that he was being hampered by his attachments, and that this in turn made him unfit to mentor Qui-Gon's precious Chosen One. Before he turned his back on the Order, the Jedi - and Anakin, the eleven-year-old Padawan he should never have taken in the first place.
There's a question that's been burning on his tongue since he first realised that the Jedi the Republic had sent to Stewjon to negotiate a trade treaty was none other than said Padawan. The need to ask it hasn't let up even now, days later, after they toured the planet together to get an overview of the crop and how many mouths of the Republic's new Clone Army it could possibly feed.
He didn't even get to relieve himself of it when caught Anakin exercising lightsaber moves in a woven grass tent in the highlands. Granted, Obi-Wan had been far too distracted by Anakin being shirtless at that point - his Padawan had indeed grown into a fine young man - but he should've at least thought of it. Instead, he'd been far too busy keeping something else down while Anakin reached around him from behind to correct his stance and his grip on the Jedi weapon.
Only much, much later, Obi-Wan remembered the Jedi tenet that your weapon is your life; that in that moment, when Anakin had lent Obi-Wan his weapon to try and see how much he'd retained from his lightsaber training, he had shown Obi-Wan more trust than anyone ever had before.
Maybe that should've answered Obi-Wan's question right then and there - except that it didn't.
"Anakin," he murmurs, voice so low that not even the couples dancing closest to them will hear. It has the unintended side effect of Anakin leaning in closer to hear him better, which in turn brings his lips distractingly close to Obi-Wan's, but oh well. Here goes nothing. "Do you resent me?"
For a fraction of a heartbeat, confusion rushes across Anakin's face before it's replaced with understanding. He purses his lips as though in thought, then starts, "Why should I? You recognised that the path you were walking wasn't the one you were destined for. There's nothing wrong with admitting to having erred and seeking to correct it. After all, the purpose you follow is still the same."
"Purpose?" Obi-Wan frowns as he steers them towards the outer edge of the dancefloor, where there are fewer couples and he can focus fully on their conversation without causing an accident. "And what, in your opinion, would that purpose be?"
"Kindness, Obi-Wan - Councillor." If Anakin feels embarrassed about slipping, he doesn't show it. Obi-Wan wishes he would. "You were always very kind, and you sought to bring out the same in others. You sought to bring it out in me."
"So you… do not feel that I abandoned you?" It's almost too much, voicing the sting of remorse that has been haunting him for years.
"No." For the first time that evening, Anakin's smile deepens to show a flash of teeth. "If anything, you set me free to meet you differently - here, now, today. As equals. That is the greatest gift you could ever have given me."
They're so close now, whispering into each other's personal space. Obi-Wan can taste the spices from the evening meal on Anakin's breath, can see the sprinkles of gold in his blue, blue eyes.
It feels only natural to lean in, to draw Anakin closer by the waist, to let their lips brush once and then again. Someone's breath hitches - Obi-Wan doesn't know whose it is, doesn't care. Anakin's hand flexes in his grip as his other trails across Obi-Wan's shoulder to come to rest on the nape of his neck, to tangle in his hair, to hold him close, closer.
They stop. The world around them stops, the dancers, the music, the chatter of the crowd. Distantly, Obi-Wan hears what sounds like Lor'lei cheering victoriously, but all he sees is Anakin - the dimples in his cheeks, the deep nebula blue of his eyes. His pupils, two black holes drawing Obi-Wan in.
For a heartbeat, Obi-Wan teeters on their twin event horizons. Then, he lets go and falls.
Anakin's lips seal over his, warm, moist, insistent - finally. Eyes fluttering shut, Obi-Wan leans up onto the tips of his toes to kiss back, not caring if he does it like a drowning man-
-and that's when all hell breaks loose.
He comes to lying on the ground, with Anakin perched over him, shielding him with his body, and people screaming all around. The band's stopped playing. The windows of the ballroom have shattered inwards, the remnants of their stained glass pictures scattered over the floor like a galaxy of colours.
And among that galaxy-
Separatist battle droids. At least two dozen of them, armed with blasters which at this range won't do much less than irreparable damage.
Anakin's saying something, but his voice is just one among many in the chaos that is the ballroom. Also, just this once, Obi-Wan doesn't care. Everyone’s just standing or lying there and staring at the newcomers, like sitting ducks.
He finds that nothing in his body feels broken or torn when he sits up, yet that observation is a mere afterthought as he concentrates on yelling at the top of his lungs, "Cover! Everyone, take cover - now!"
His words show immediate effect. Across the room, Lor'lei scrambles to her feet and grabs the next best two political functionaries to drag them behind a broad stone pillar. By the buffet, people start crawling behind upended tables. Even the band abandons their musical instruments in favour of searching cover in a doorway.
Unfortunately, his people's attention is not the only one he attracts.
Anakin curses when the battle droids turn their heads towards them and unhook their blasters from their back. Obi-Wan makes to get up - and finds that he's already moving, sliding across the polished stone floor and away from Anakin.
Anakin, who's got one hand outstretched and pointing at Obi-Wan as he grabs for his lightsaber with the other. Anakin, who ignites his weapon just in time to deflect the first barrage of blaster bolts aimed right at him and at the spot in which Obi-Wan lay only heartbeats ago.
"Die, Jedi dog!" one of the droids blares, but that's just about the only motive for their attack Obi-Wan can glean from their behaviour. Why attack here, now, at a political function on a small agricultural planet?
Better try and stay alive if you want to know more, a cheeky voice whispers at the back of his head. He takes its advice. Shards of glass rain out of his hair as he gets up and hurries for cover behind a pillar, but he does not feel the cuts he must undoubtedly have sustained in the initial attack. He doesn't feel like he's got a concussion, either. Maybe his thick braids and sturdy highland robes are good for something after all.
Anakin does not have that kind of protection, though. Crouching in the shadow of the pillar, Obi-Wan watches him parry the flak from the droids’ blasters. There’s a lot, and Anakin’s moving that way, too, his lightsaber a barely visible blur of blue. To the side of the droids’ formation, Obi-Wan can see some breaking off to make for those party guests who haven’t fled the room yet, pinned down or unconscious. Still, all Anakin can do is parry, picking off droids painstakingly slowly by sending their own blaster bolts back at them. No room to manoeuvre, no space for an attack.
Obi-Wan lets his gaze wander.
There’s a droid lying quite close to the pillar he’s hiding behind, its body broken, its blaster still intact and pinned under one of its arms. Obi-Wan hasn’t touched one of those clumsy weapons in years. And yet…
Obi-Wan watches the crossfire, the way Anakin is slowly but surely being forced to give way, how the droids that aren’t busy taking hostages seem to be focused fully on him. And as Obi-Wan watches, he reaches into the Force. It welcomes him back like an old friend - not that he was ever truly gone - and shows him the way.
At just the right second, Obi-Wan pushes off the pillar and lets himself fall onto his side to slide across the floor. Stray streaks of red flak whiz by over his head. The broken battle droid clangs as he barrels into it, but it’s only when he grabs onto its blaster and tugs it free that the others start to notice his presence.
“There’s another one!” a droid blares, pointing. He doesn’t get out more, though, as Obi-Wan hefts the blaster up and fires. It takes out two, maybe three of the blasted war machines - which isn’t much, but it’s enough to buy Anakin one second of reprieve.
For a Jedi, one second is more than enough time to vault gracefully over his enemies’ heads and start cutting them down from behind.
The blaster heats up in Obi-Wan’s hands as he fires a few more times, picking off the droids Anakin didn’t get the first time around and then aiming for the ones that have broken away and are trying to take hostages. Anakin finishes off the ones Obi-Wan doesn’t hit, his body a blur of movement followed by the sounds of metal bodies hitting the ground.
It’s over as quickly as it began. Obi-Wan fires one last round in the head of a droid he’s not sure is moving still, and then he drops the blaster because Anakin’s there, by his side, sheathing his lightsaber before he crouches and starts patting Obi-Wan down.
“Are you injured?” A hand finds its way between the folds of Obi-Wan’s outer robe and is clasped over his heart, staying there for a few moments before it moves on down his ribcage. Obi-Wan feels Anakin’s Force presence wrap around him like a blanket, warm, soft, heavy. “Are you alright?”
Obi-Wan catches Anakin’s hands when they try to move on to his legs. “Yes, dear. I’m alright. Are you?”
“No.” Finally, Anakin looks him in the eye, his mouth a straight-set line of anger, fear, disappointment. Still, his fingers tangle readily with Obi-Wan’s. “That was a foolish thing to do. You could have gotten hurt - badly.”
A smile comes easily to his face, despite the post-battle jitters Obi-Wan can already feel setting in. “I knew you would not let that happen. I trusted in the Force.”
From the way Anakin’s mouth twists up in a pout, he knows it’s not what he wanted to hear. But Anakin’s hands are warm in his, his body readily bending towards him, like a reed in the wind. When Anakin leans in close to whisper in his ear, his hair tickles Obi-Wan’s cheek.
“I’ve only just found you again.” The murmur is low, a single voice in the storm of time, yet Obi-Wan hears it as clearly as if it was spoken on a clear, still winter day in Stewjon’s highlands. “Don’t make me lose you once more.”
By the time the last traces of the skirmish are cleared away, the wounded taken care of and the investigations into the attack begun, dawn is tinting the horizon in shades of ochre and red.
Obi-Wan watches the colours brighten over the lowlands, standing beside Anakin’s small starfighter on the departure platform as it’s being readied for take-off. Between med-care and giving his version of the events for protocol, he hasn’t slept a wink.
It doesn’t bother him in the slightest. Despite the night’s incident, Anakin is obliged to return to the Temple on Coruscant, and Obi-Wan will be damned if he doesn’t see him off.
The Temple. For the first time in years, something tugs at his heartstrings as he remembers the monumental building, its bustling gardens and quiet training salles. Not quite home, no - but something that used to be much more dear.
He is saved from further wanderings of his thoughts by light steps drawing closer behind him. He turns and looks at the slim, long walkway connecting the departure platform to the shipyard buildings. The sun rises at his back and bathes Anakin’s dear hair, face, eyes in crimson flames.
Suddenly, Obi-Wan is grateful that Lor’lei sat him down after they both got their cuts and bruises seen to and brushed his hair back into a mildly acceptable shape. How he could have faced Anakin - beautiful, gorgeous, handsome Anakin - otherwise, he does not know. He already looks far too tired, too old for his own taste as it is.
Anakin’s smile, however, grows wider with every step he draws nearer, like Obi-Wan’s the most welcome sight he’s ever been met with. He only stops to step out of the way as the last service people end their work on his ship and hurry back to the yards. When he finally reaches Obi-Wan, they’re alone on the platform, with just the rising sun at their backs for company.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, takes Obi-Wan’s hands in his own and lifts them to his mouth and kisses them. His lips are soothingly cool on Obi-Wan’s bruised knuckles.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says and smiles back.
They barely got any time together. Not when they first met, not before Obi-Wan left, not now that their paths have crossed again. And yet, Obi-Wan knows this is far from the end for them.
“I heard the flowers of the Temple’s uneti tree are a sight to behold,” he begins, cautiously edging his way forwards. “I wonder if it blooms this time of the year.”
“Soon.” Anakin’s eyes are knowing as he brushes his thumbs over the backs of Obi-Wan’s hands. “I can take you to see it one day, if you’d like - and in return, you can take me when the highlands here begin to bloom.”
“Yes. I’d like that very much.”
As Obi-Wan answers, a breeze lifts up from the lowlands to brush through his hair and Anakin’s. It’s the kind of upwards wind that makes it easiest for small craft to gain height, to climb up through the atmosphere until there is nothing between them and the stars. It’s Anakin’s clue, Obi-Wan knows.
He doesn’t hold on longer than necessary. He doesn’t stall, and neither does Anakin. For a few heartbeats, their bodies draw closer to eclipse the rising sun completely, and when they break apart again, Obi-Wan knows it’s not just the light of dawn tinting Anakin’s cheeks a healthy red.
Then, Anakin is gone, and Obi-Wan’s hands are empty.
He holds onto the platform’s railing as he watches Anakin’s craft take off. Shielding his eyes, he follows it past the sun that has now fully risen over the horizon and into the pale blue of the new morning, and when it’s swallowed up by the sky, he turns away - his heart lighter than it’s ever been.