THE FORCE WILL BE WITH YOU. ALWAYS.

She almost winces in pain herself at the whimper escaping his lips when she moves his arm. She grits her teeth, keeping her hold on him steady, and their pace slow. She’s sure that every step only pains him more, and every movement of his injured arm must send aftershocks of pain searing through his arm from the wound. But she can’t focus on that, or she won’t be able to get him to the ship without thinking only about how she’s causing him more pain by making him move. “ It’s alright, I’ve got you, ” she murmurs again, voice low and gentle, temporarily devoid of humor.

One step at a time.

She can tell that his mind is reeling, and she’s sure he’s struggling to place everything that has happened. He’s quiet, but she can feel his mind working to calm himself. It’s the shock, she knows. The pain of his injuries, the exhaustion, the stress of battle, the deaths in the Force. All of it together is excruciating, even though as Jedi they’re trained to be able to withstand all of those things. ( All of them together, though… even Jedi can be human, and all sentient beings have their limits. ) It’s all she can do to just keep trying to calm him through the Force, keep sending him gentle reassurances. She keeps their speed slow, supporting his weight steadily, ready to tighten her hold on him should he stumble.

Anakin’s name leaving his lips in a stammer is little more than a breath by her ear, but she hears it nonetheless ( feels this new level of shock shudder though him as he sees what she, too, has seen ). She pulls him closer to her, if that’s even possible, almost expecting him to fall, or attempt to run to his Padawan and find himself on the ground. Sympathetic, but firm, eyes hold his gaze, and she moves her left hand to his chest, as though to stop him if he gets the foolish idea of trying to move quicker or without her.

“ He’s going to the ship, Obi-Wan, same as you, ” she tells him, words still soft. “ You’ll be with him there — he’s going to get there before you, you know, especially if you do anything stupid and fall. ” There’s a bit of a jesting tone woven in now, a gentle attempt to calm him down again. “ You’ll be with him on the ship, ” she promises again, neither speeding up her pace nor changing direction at all, unwilling to delay medical attention for either Jedi by humoring Obi-Wan’s exhausted, possibly delirious, assumption that he’ll get to Anakin quicker by doing anything other than going directly to the ship.

              HALF OF HIM REFUSES TO  focus on her words. Half of him refuses to acknowledge the hand holding him upright, the hand cradling his chest, the calm reaching out to him from her mind, the gentle & reassuring & firm cadence of her voice. All that half of him can think is  Anakin! Anakin, my Padawan, is hurt, and I must go to him, I must be with him to help him, you must let me go to him!  That half of him is hyperaware of the pain & bewilderment that the young man is experiencing. He can feel the shock that is threatening to take over Anakin’s mind & body, can feel the boy wearily fighting to keep the shock at bay, can feel how Anakin clings to Padmé as she helps him to the transport ...  He can feel it all, ( not only Anakin, but the deaths of the Jedi, the ending agonies of his friends & his family, the huge gaping hole their sudden & violent absence has left in the Force )  & it horrifies him, that he could have failed so miserably to protect his Padawan. 

     The other half of him is listening intently to Siri’s words, drawing deep peace from her presence, & trying desperately to stay upright & not topple to the ground in a shuddering heap of pain & confusion. 

     That half of him knows that she is correct, that rushing to Anakin’s side will only aggravate his injuries or even cause him to fall unconscious from the pain. So he hesitates & fights against the rising panic from the inconsolable half of himself. 

     “I ------”  he begins,  “I can’t ---- Anakin, I ....  Siri, I must go to him.”  He finally gets the words out. They’re stammered, half-complete, but the thought is finally communicated. It is difficult to be aware of how it sounds, but if he were in more complete control of his mind & sense, he would most likely be ashamed of the fact that his tone is that of a pleading child. His eyes are confused, alternately focused & unfocused as he moves from her to Anakin to her to Anakin in his mind.

               IT HAD TO HAVE BEEN  a dream. The swirling chaos surrounding him, the lights & the sounds & the feelings pressing in on his senses from every side ...  There is no way he had been in full possession of himself, & as such, the situation must have been -- must have been -- a dream.

     The raucous crowds at the Sorenti New Year Festival had been  jostling him to & fro, but he had allowed the flow of foot traffic to guide him while keeping a firm sense of where Anakin was. It had been a stopover, their last mission having gone so smoothly that Obi-Wan had listened to his Padawan’s entreaties for “a day off”  ( as Anakin put it ).  Jedi do not get a day off,  Obi-Wan had replied sternly, but his expression had instantly softened at the earnest expression on the boy’s face. Fifteen years of age, six years of Jedi training ----- Obi-Wan cannot expect him to be as disciplined as the Masters, can he? 

     Besides, it is not so difficult for Obi-Wan to remember himself at fifteen -- he seems to recall that he had also enjoyed attending planetary celebrations & festivals when given the chance.

     So here they are.

     There was another reason for this particular stop, too -- one he had used to justify his detour to the Jedi Council: Siri Tachi & her padawan, Ferus Olin, had just finished a mission on Sorent & needed transport back to Coruscant.

     He’d communicated with her before they’d landed, & prescribed the main square in the planet’s capital as their meeting place, but he hadn’t found her ------- not until the music & the laughter & the shouting had sent his mind buzzing & the connection that bound him to his Padawan all the way across the market seemed to be the only thing tethering him to reality. There was too much going on, everywhere he turned, too much even to feel her prickling his sense as she walked up to him.

     He had turned, surprise appearing on his face, immediately followed by a blush of embarrassment at having been caught off-guard by her approach, then a deeper blush of joy at seeing her so close ---- the rush of affection & warmth erupted from him before he could contain it. The crowds all around them had chosen that time to erupt, too, with cheers & cries & music. In the back of his mind, he had acknowledged the fact that it was the new year now, officially. 

     And then, the most unexpected thing of all: she had smiled at him, walked up &, without a word, had pulled him to her. Her lips had met his & for an infinite moment he lost himself in the sensation. He had kissed her, as she had kissed him, & he had held her, as she held him. Not two Jedi, just two people. No, not even two people --- one spirit, one soul. 

     For a single instant, he felt better than he had in years. For a single instant, he was blissfully & unequivocally happy. 

               A CIGARETTE STAINS his fingers, a habit from his days on tour he’d given up upon returning home. Until now. The worst thing in the world is having to go back to the dark you once shook off, but it’s difficult not to reestablish a vice or two when it feels like the only thing you have. Home is the place he left behind, the family he abandoned with his heart in his mouth && a gun in his hand. 

                He sucks down another drag, smoke escaping between his teeth when he offers it to the other man. They’d shared cigarettes in war, && at times like these it feels like they’re still fighting. ❝ I’m worried about Leia. ❞

               THERE’S A QUIET MOMENT  as he inspects his friend. His best friend. Still, for their purported closeness, he hadn’t been able to stop Anakin from leaving, & he hadn’t been able to wrap his mind around Anakin’s return. There is still an awkward tension resting here, between them, even in the midst of this familiarity & this old rote & ritual. 

     He leans forward & accepts the proffered cigarette, taking a drag as he glances out into the dusk. There’s a chill that runs down his spine as the wind whispers by. It’s too quiet to be comfortable.

                                   “  you missed me , admit it . ”