GrapeNehi

But he did let Cody pull up a chair. Cody had to help him down, keeping him from too much weight on the bad knee. He had the grace to ignore the unbidden cry of pain as Obi-Wan sank down into the seat.

Obi-Wan nodded his thanks—wasn't entirely sure what would come out if he tried to speak. His vision was a little blurry now, and he waited for it to come back. Then, he'd go back to the paperwork and the reports and—

Cody's hand landed lightly on his shoulder. The bad one, which ached almost as badly now as it had in the week after Geonosis.

And when Cody began to rub the aching muscle and bone, Obi-Wan almost tried to stop him. Found, though, that he didn't quite have the energy.

He leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes.

—

Back at the Temple, it should have been better. The place always glowed like a beacon in the Force, full of the light and humor of children and the wisdom of generations. Anakin was back from his own campaign in the Outer Rim, Ahsoka with him, and they had plans to meet up that evening for a meal.

Although at the moment, Obi-Wan wasn't certain he could stomach one.

The Council listened to his debrief with interest—it was his first in-person meeting in quite a while, though many of the other Masters tuned in via hologram. It was always strange to see them, but not to feel them. The Council Chamber felt empty in spite of the many voices.

But an in-person meeting meant Obi-Wan had to work a little harder to hide it—the way he leaned on one leg more than the other, the way he reached for his shoulder when no one was looking his way. As a hologram, he only needed to think about how normal he looked. Here in the Chamber, he had to be careful he wasn't projecting into the Force how he felt.

"Master Kenobi, we have a difficult contractual situation in the Mid Rim. Might we send you to negotiate?"

Obi-Wan stifled the odd feeling in his chest—relief, in part, in fulfilling his real role as a Jedi. Regret, that Cody and the men would be on their own.

And then, the strangest one of all—a bit of dread.

He didn't want to be alone.

"Of course, Master Windu."

"We'll brief you tomorrow," he replied. "For now, get some rest—you'll need it. We all do."

Obi-Wan nodded. The meeting was dismissed, and the Councilors moved to adjourn.

When Obi-Wan started for the door, though, he stumbled.

Master Windu saw—or maybe sensed—his discomfort, and soon enough he was there at his side.

"And perhaps," he said, hand gently on Obi-Wan's forearm. "Make a visit to the Halls of Healing as well."

"I am fine, Master."

Master Windu's eyebrows raised, then lowered. Obi-Wan's face burned.

"There isn't much they can do for me anyhow."

Obi-Wan declined dinner at Dex's, when Anakin asked. Ahsoka had merely looked disappointed, but Anakin saw through him—the worry was all over his face.

"We'll bring some back for you," Ahsoka said. They were standing in the doorway of Obi-Wan's quarters. "You want the usual?"

"I'm afraid I'm not very hungry, Padawan."

It was Anakin who contested that. "You need to eat something. Better Dex's than more ration bars." He was eying Obi-Wan closely, which he avoided. "Be back soon, okay?"

There was a nudge in the Force—Anakin, checking in on him. Obi-Wan nudged back, but it was weak.

When they shut the door, Obi-Wan kicked off his boots and left them in the living room. He thought about making some tea, but the energy necessary to get to the kitchen, and the thought of holding something in his stomach, both deterred him. Instead, he inched toward the bedroom, finally allowing himself to limp as much as necessary. No need to put on a show now.

Until he stumbled. A step from the bedroom door, his bad knee gave, and he cried out.

He didn't catch himself.

At long last, he managed to get himself into bed. He stripped off his outer tunics as best he could, leaving the leggings and undershirt beneath, and curled himself under the covers. He could sleep, maybe. He didn't feel the pain in his sleep.

But blast, no, it hurt too much, and the ache was so constant and pressing he couldn't even find a position that was comfortable, couldn't even lie still without feeling it. He couldn't sleep like this. For so many nights now, he couldn't sleep like this.

So he didn't. Just lay there, hurting, alone.

When Anakin knocked on the door again, he couldn't even force himself up to get it.

Anakin knew the code—knocking was more of a formality anyhow, for both of them. From under the covers, he heard the door sliding open and two sets of feet enter the room, talking and laughing. And that made his heart ache, too.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin called. "We brought you a burger. Where'd you go?"

They crossed the living room, and then there was a knock on the bedroom door. It opened, and light flooded in.

He heard Anakin exhale.

There was whispering, and then Anakin was passing the food to Ahsoka and murmuring something he couldn't hear. When she was gone, just Anakin crossed the room. Obi-Wan felt, more than saw, him sit down on the edge of the bed.

"It's bad today, then," Anakin said softly.

Obi-Wan nodded. And for some reason, it was those simple words—an admission of the truth—that brought tears to his eyes.

He rolled onto his back, rubbing a sleeve across his face with a sniff. The motion sent a sharper pain through his shoulder, and he let out a short, high-pitched sound instead of answering.

Anakin didn't say anything more. Just took over Obi-Wan's weak attempt at massaging out the pain, the way that Vokara Che had showed him a year ago. Obi-Wan let his head drop back into the pillow, and closed his eyes.

It did ease off a bit. He didn't know how much time passed before he was opening his eyes again—had he fallen asleep? And Ahsoka was in the room, sitting on his other side.

"I thought you might be getting a little hungry," she said.

Obi-Wan tried to smile. "I'm afraid I don't quite have it in me to get to the kitchen, Padawan."

She revealed the bag of takeout, and a stack of plates and cutlery.

"How about a picnic in bed?"

And that almost got a smile.

Anakin helped him sit up. They stacked some pillows against the headboard, so Obi-Wan something to lean against, and he drew his knees toward his chest beneath the blankets. They kept the lights dim, and propped his knee up on some more pillows. Ahsoka got his food out onto a plate. And for the first time in far too long, they shared a real meal.

Anakin and Ahsoka did most of the talking. Obi-Wan followed the conversation, some banter about the pros and cons of Jar'Kai against droids, which eventually led to a mock lightsaber battle using the kitchen spoons. And Obi-Wan, somehow, found a laugh within himself too.

When they'd finished, Ahsoka cleared the dishes. Anakin helped him settle back into the bed, head still propped up by pillows, and popped in a holovid. Obi-Wan didn't even bother to protest that they had more important things to do.

He didn't see the end of the film. In fact, he barely saw the beginning, before his head was listing sideways and falling gently against Anakin's shoulder.

And as his Padawans settled in beside him, the voices of the holo-film flickering in and out of his consciousness, he felt something distant and warm, something he'd missed—