dirt in the machine (sw)
Feb. 8th, 2012 09:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardSo here is a...thing. It is more genderfuck! Because apparently that is what I have decided to do with my current tenure in SW fandom, because thoughtful in-canon fic, who wants that when you can have genderfuck? Although I have no real idea why this fic is genderfuck; I have a theory I'm just playing with the Anakin/Obi-Wan relationship to see how much changes when one or the other or both of them is a different gender. This one is male Anakin and lady!Obi-Wan, and I think this Anakin is...more mellow, maybe? Less clashing testosterone than in canon, anyway.
Right now, the only thing that Anakin Skywalker wants in the universe is a hot shower and a warm bed. He’s even willing to forego the shower if it gets him into bed quicker. They’re still a few klicks from Crimson Station, which means a few more klicks of trudging through twelve kinds of muck in pouring rain, which weighs down his robes and soaks through his clothes down to the bone. Even the clones’ armor isn’t white anymore, just a few patches showing through the mud that slicks over it like a second coat of paint. At least they’re well-camouflaged.
“Master,” he complains faintly, not really expecting Obi-Wan to hear him over the rain and the squelching sound of the marching troopers – no war machines here; they’d be even more useless than on Jabiim, “how much further?”
“As long as it takes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replies, tired and distracted. She tugs her hood closer over her face, shadowing it completely, and tucks her hands into the sleeves of her robe. In the gloom she looks like nothing more than a slight brownish bulk, a little paler than the surrounding darkness. Sunset had been a few hours ago. Anakin doesn’t know what time it is now and can’t bring himself to care.
Just another couple of hours, he tells himself. Just another couple hours, and then they’ll be at Crimson Station, where they can fall into bed and let Master Unduli take over until they’re forced to rouse themselves from unconsciousness. Funny how everyone had claimed that this planet was firmly in the Republic’s grasp until the Separatists had turned up, firmly ensconced on the surface like they’d been here for years. Maybe they have. Maybe they’ve been being lied to all along and the Queen-Priestess isn’t as surprised as she’s been leading them all to believe. Maybe –
“Or maybe the Separatists have fooled her as they’ve fooled us,” Obi-Wan murmurs, picking up the stray thought from the front of Anakin’s mind. “Mind your thoughts, my Padawan.”
“Yes, Master,” Anakin mutters. “Sorry, Master.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t reply, her own misery sunk deep into the Force around them despite her best intentions. Anakin think of a lot of things to say, but Obi-Wan clearly doesn’t want to talk and Anakin’s really too tired to have a real conversation. Just a few more hours, he tells himself. Just a few more hours, then they’ll be at Crimson Station and they can hand off their duties to Master Unduli and her Padawan.
He’s so obsessed with the thought that he almost misses the faint whisper in the Force that precludes a Sep attack.
“Master!” he cries, but Obi-Wan has felt it to and is already spinning around, her movement slowed by the thick mud. Her lightsaber blazes blue in her hand, raindrops sizzling into steam as they hit the blade; Anakin follows in the same heartbeat, teeth bared in a grimace as he squints into the darkness, reaching out with the Force to find the Sep forces before the shooting starts. He’s so tired; all he senses is a vast blankness and the warm, reassuring presence of Obi-Wan beside him.
The clones, alerted by his cry, are starting to spread out, moving into position a little slowly because of the mud. An ARC trooper is barking orders – Anakin thinks that it’s Cody, but he can’t actually tell, he’s too tired to expend the extra effort to tell one clone from another.
He realizes belatedly that they’ve walked into an ambush when the first rocket explodes in the middle of the column behind them. It sends them reeling backwards, clones flying everywhere and Anakin’s lightsaber extinguishing when he falls flat on his ass, and he shoves aside the sound of screaming to take in what the explosion has illuminated: they’ve walked into a canyon, and its steep walls are so thickly covered with droids that it looks like they’ve grown there. Blaster fire rains down on them as Anakin scrambles for his lightsaber, Obi-Wan deflecting the shots and cursing in a way that’s completely unfitting for a Jedi Knight as the clones start to return fire, medics shouting and pulling the wounded under what cover they can manage. A sharp whistle heralds the approach of a second rocket; Anakin thrusts out his ungloved hand and shoves with the Force, stopping the rocket in mid-air. It wiggles slightly, fighting him, and he bites his lip until he tastes blood, willing it slowly back as it reverses course – and then goes, flying back in the direction it came from. Droid parts erupt in the air as it explodes.
“Good job, Anakin,” Obi-Wan pants, parrying a blaster bolt.
“Any time, Master,” Anakin says, igniting his own lightsaber.
“Cody, get Blue Squad to cover our retreat!” Obi-Wan orders, the Force behind her words so that they carry. “Get the wounded out of here! We’ll bring up the rear –”
She flings her free hand out, sending two droidekas flying backwards amongst their fellows, her eyes nearly crossed in concentration as she deflects a third rocket. Anakin covers her, his lightsaber flashing before his eyes as he parries bolts.
“General, Commander, you ought to get out of here,” Cody says, settling in beside them with his blaster cradled lovingly in his arms. “We’ll cover you –”
“Cover the retreat, Cody,” Obi-Wan snaps. “That’s an order! Anakin and I will take care of this.”
“All right – hey! Get these clones out of here!” he shouts, waving his arm to get their attention. “Go, go, go!”
Anakin’s ears are ringing with the sound of blaster fire. If his hearing wasn’t already busted after a lifetime in close proximity to fast speeders and faster starfighters, much to his Master’s dismay, the war probably would have done it. As it is, he can barely hear Cody’s shouting over the din; the only reason he doesn’t miss Obi-Wan’s yell is because she grabs the back of his robe and yells in his ear, “Time to go, Anakin –”
His name ends in a wet, choked off sound as Obi-Wan stumbles backwards, dragging him down with her grip on his robe. “Master!” he cries, his lightsaber fallen forgotten into the mud.
They’re both so filthy that he can’t distinguish blood from mud, but he can feel her life flickering and fading in the Force as she gasps, bubbles of blood at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes are wide and blank, her hands clasping and unclasping weakly on his robe as Anakin bends over her, all coherent thought gone out of his mind except no no no not again no –
It’s like his mother on Tatooine all over again, like Jabiim and Aargonar and a hundred other worlds where Jedi and clones have died gasping under his hands. Anakin presses his forehead against his master’s, his tears cutting tracks through the mud on his face, and grasps for the strands of the Force.
“Not this time,” he snarls. “Not this time – come on, Obi-Wan, stay with me, I’m going to save you –”
He knows how to heal, of course, all Jedi do, but he’s never been any good at it. A true Jedi healer could go in and take care of everything that’s damaged, stitch together torn tissue and muscle and broken bones with nothing but their mind, but all Anakin can do is think frantically fix it and shoves the Force into Obi-Wan, running one hand over the place on her torso where the worst damage seems to be.
Obi-Wan spasms, her back arching as she tries to scream, her blood gurgling in her throat. Anakin grips her close, words tumbling over his tongue as he begs her to stay with him, to live, because he can’t lose her too, not again, please.
He doesn’t see the combat droids until they’re practically on top of them.
“No –” Anakin protests, his lightsaber flying into his hand, but he doesn’t even make it to his feet before a droid smashes its rifle into the back of his skull and he falls face-down across Obi-Wan’s body, tasting blood and mud in the instant before unconsciousness comes.
*
When Anakin wakes up, he thinks, Obi-Wan, and reaches out for her with his mind, panic increasing when he can’t find her. Using the Force feels like swimming through mud; he shoves with his mind, trying to find his way through, because his master has to be there somewhere – at last he finds her, though he can’t seem to focus long enough to tell her where she is or how badly she’s hurt, just that she’s alive.
Something’s weird about this, though. Anakin lets the Force carry him along, drifting in little waves and eddies through the bog of it. This isn’t normal, not for him. And – there are only a few life forms in his immediate vicinity. Lots of mechanicals – droids, mostly – but no clones, no other Jedi but him and Obi-Wan, and –
He sits bolt upright, his eyes flying open.
He’s sitting in a small room, all gray durasteel with diamond patterns on the floor and walls. His wrists are cuffed together in front of him; his robe and utility belt, with his lightsaber and comlink, are missing. He touches his fingers to the back of his head gingerly, wincing when he finds dried blood clotted in his filthy hair. He remembers the droid knocking him out with the butt of its rifle, which is a new one for him – the Separatists don’t take captives unless they can get something out of it. The droids should have blown him and Obi-Wan away, not that he’s complaining, except he doesn’t like mysteries and this is definitely one of them.
Anakin glances up. Air vent to his right, tucked against the ceiling – too small for a human to get through. Door directly in front of him. He hops off the hard cot and goes over to inspect, running his fingers over the wall beside it in hopes of finding a control panel, but as far as he can tell there isn’t one on this side of the room. It’s a cell, never meant to be opened from the inside. In the corner of the room opposite the air vent is what Anakin is pretty sure is a camera, though it’s no kind he’s ever seen before.
He waves his cuffed hands at it. “Hey, you! Whoever’s watching this! I want to see my master right now, or the fact that you’ve just kidnapped two Jedi is going to be the least of your problems.”
He really doesn’t want to think about the fact that the Jedi Council has probably written them off as dead, because who knows how long they’ve been here, but that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that he and Obi-Wan are both here, and as long as they’re together, then they can get out of this.
He shouts at the camera some more, mostly to relieve his own anxiety rather than because he thinks anyone’s going to respond, then goes and sits back down on the cot, wondering where the hell he is and what they’ve done with Obi-Wan. At least he knows that she’s alive, thanks to the Force, but he has no idea what condition she’s in or how badly injured she really is. It had felt bad, back on the planet, but now Anakin just can’t tell. At least she’s alive.
“It’s strange how we keep meeting like this, Skywalker.”
Anakin leaps up as the door slides open, revealing Count Dooku, elegant in black – almost a mockery of the Jedi uniform. Anakin glances at the lightsaber on his belt, then demands, “Where’s Obi-Wan?”
“If you were my Padawan, Skywalker, I would teach you patience,” Dooku says, sounding faintly annoyed. “And manners.”
“Where is Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Anakin repeats, ignoring him.
“Master Kenobi was badly injured in the ambush,” Dooku concedes, looking Anakin up and down as if he doesn’t like what he sees. That’s all right; Anakin isn’t too fond of the view either. “She is currently being treated for her injuries. My medical droids inform me that she ought to recover without permanent damage.”
“I want to see her.”
“She wouldn’t be aware of it,” Dooku says. “She’s in a bacta tank.”
“She’ll know,” Anakin says. His voice sounds cold to his ears; he clenches both fists, flesh and metal, wanting to wrap his fingers around Dooku’s throat.
“Your devotion to your young master is remarkable, Padawan,” Dooku says. He looks at Anakin again, his expression considering. “Very well. I shall permit you to see her, so long as you give me your parole not to attempt to escape or harm me. If you betray your word, I shall kill first Obi-Wan Kenobi, then you. Do I have your oath?”
Anakin hesitates, then nods, thinking of the horrible gasping sound Obi-Wan had made as she bled out in the mud and muck of the planet’s surface. “I give you my word as a Jedi.” He thrusts his hands out towards Dooku. “Take the cuffs off.”
“Not part of the bargain, I’m afraid,” Dooku says.
Anakin lets his hands drop. “I need to report to the Jedi Council.”
“Really,” Dooku says, sounding mildly entertained. “And why would I permit you to do that?”
“You’ve never taken captives before,” Anakin says cautiously. “So you must want something from us. If you’re going to ransom us or – or trade us, or something, you need to let the Republic know we’re alive, or they’ll think you’re lying. And it will go better if Obi-Wan or I tell them that, but since Obi-Wan can’t –”
“There’s one thing you haven’t considered, young Skywalker.”
“What’s that?”
“Perhaps I don’t want the Republic to know that you and Master Kenobi live,” Dooku says, and turns away, cape fluttering after him. Anakin follows him, glancing around and trying to memorize everything he sees, because the Republic might never get another chance like this to see the inside of Dooku’s command carrier up close. Of course, the importance of that is predicated on their eventually making it back to Republic territory, but Anakin is trying not to think about that right now.
Everywhere he looks there are droids. Some of them glance at him curiously, but most seem content to ignore him, focused on their duties. He has the uncomfortable feeling that besides him, Obi-Wan, and Dooku, there might not be another life form on the entire ship. He reaches out with the Force again, trying to find out for sure, but it’s the same as it had been before – like swimming through mud. He shakes his head, reaching up with his cuffed hands to pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
“If you’re trying to use the Force, Skywalker, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Count Dooku says over his shoulder.
“Why not?” Anakin demands.
“Because I’ve given you a drug that obstructs your ability to connect with the Force,” says Dooku. “It’s experimental, but preliminary reports have been promising. And I see it’s working.”
Anakin stops dead in the hallway, staring at him. “What?”
Dooku beckons him forward. “Don’t concern yourself overmuch. When the drug wears off, you should be able to interact with your midichlorians again.”
“Should be able to – who are you doing these experiments on, anyway?”
“That’s none of your concern. Come along, Skywalker. You do wish to see your master, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Anakin says, scowling at his back as he starts moving forward again. But Dooku’s wrong, he thinks distractedly. He can still feel the Force; it’s just more difficult than it usually is for him. But his midichlorian count is so high – maybe for an ordinary Jedi it’s like being blind and deaf.
He resists the urge to chew on a fingernail, which Obi-Wan has been trying to train him out of for years. Dooku leads him through the guts of the ship, past ranks of powered-down battle droids; Anakin doesn’t need the Force to tell him that the Sith Lord is showing off the power of the Confederacy. He resists the urge to shout at Count Dooku; he’s more than aware of what the Confederacy is capable of, he just wants to see Obi-Wan.
Dooku finally leads him into a room with a single bacta tank in the center of it. There’s a medical droid standing beside it, but Anakin doesn’t care about that, shoving forward into the room as Count Dooku steps aside. Stripped of her Jedi robes, the cloud of her red hair free of its usual elaborate braids, Obi-Wan looks smaller and younger, almost delicate as she floats in the bacta. The blaster wounds on her torso don’t look as bad as Anakin had feared, but it might just be the bacta obscuring them. He’s seen Obi-Wan naked or nearly naked enough times before; he doesn’t spare time looking at her bare legs or the curve of her breasts beneath the breast-band someone has modestly put her in.
“Give me that,” he demands, snatching the datapad from the medical droid’s hands and checking Obi-Wan’s vitals. Everything looks like it’s in order, he’s relieved to find as he scrolls through the report. Heartbeat steady, lost blood replaced – he’s not going to ask from where, since it doesn’t exactly look like there are a lot of donors lined up – wounds clean of infection, everything looks good. She’s been in the bacta for almost twenty-four hours already; the estimate for full recovery is another eighteen before she should be moved to a bed. Anakin runs down the list of administered drugs, trying to find the unfamiliar Force-blocker that Dooku had given him. If Obi-Wan can’t use the Force, it will take her twice as long to heal, maybe more. If Dooku had given it to her, it’s not there.
“Content, young Skywalker?” Dooku inquires.
Anakin hands the datapad back to the droid and flattens his palms against the glass, looking up at Obi-Wan as he reaches out with the Force. Knowing what’s blocking him doesn’t make it any easier, but this close he can feel Obi-Wan’s life force, strong and steady and familiar.
“I want to stay with her,” he says, not looking back at Dooku.
“You make an unusual number of demands for a Padawan,” Count Dooku observes.
“I gave you my parole,” Anakin insists. “Obi-Wan’s wounded, it’s not like she’s going anywhere, and I won’t go anywhere without her, anyway. She’s my master. It’s my duty to stay with her.”
“So devoted, even for a Padawan,” says the count. “No. You may give your report to the Jedi Council, then you will be escorted back to your cell. Once Master Kenobi has been removed from the bacta, I will reconsider your request.”
“But –” Anakin protests automatically, then stops, blinking. “You’re going to let me talk to the Council? Why?”
“Perhaps you made a compelling argument, young Skywalker. Perhaps I am merely curious to see how my old master responds to this unique situation of yours.” He makes an impatient gesture towards Anakin.
Obi-Wan’s face is so calm, so still in the murky bacta liquid. Anakin lingers as long as he can, then drags himself away from the tank and follows Dooku back into the hallway, glancing over his shoulder at his master. Why? Why save two of the Republic’s heroes, then give Obi-Wan Kenobi medical treatment for the wounds she’d sustained at the hands of Dooku’s own forces? None of it makes any sense; Anakin has no idea what Dooku thinks he can get from them. He wonders if he dares ask.
Dooku doesn’t take him all the way up to the bridge, just takes him into another small room with a holocom in it. Anakin programs the Council’s information into it, wondering if this is some kind of a trick, and steps up onto the platform, grinning in relief when Master Yoda’s and Master Windu’s figures flicker into sight in front of him.
“Skywalker!” says Windu, sounding relieved as Anakin makes his formal bow. “Where are you? Master Unduli reported that you and Obi-Wan had never made it to Crimson Station and your clone commander reported you lost.”
“Yes, Masters,” Anakin says, apology creeping into his voice. “We – we’ve been captured by Count Dooku. Master Obi-Wan was badly injured in the ambush, I was knocked unconscious, and Dooku brought us here and treated us. I’ve seen Obi-Wan; she’s in a bacta tank right now, but it looks like she’ll be all right.”
“An aggressive move this is,” Master Yoda says. “There with you, Count Dooku is?”
Dooku steps on the platform besides Anakin. “I am here, my old master.”
“We require the immediate return of Master Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker,” Windu informs him. He and Master Yoda exchange an unreadable look, then Windu grimaces and goes on, “Name your ransom.”
“I don’t intend to ransom them,” says Dooku.
“Then what do you want?” Anakin says bitterly. “If you think you can recruit Obi-Wan, you’re wrong, she’ll never turn to the Dark Side –”
“I have always been of the opinion that Padawans should be seen and not heard,” Dooku muses. “You’ve given your report to the Council. Guards, escort young Skywalker back to his cell.”
“Wait!” Anakin protests as four battle droids step forward. “I –”
“Stay with Obi-Wan, Anakin,” Windu orders. “We will inform the Supreme Chancellor immediately –”
“No,” Dooku snaps. “This is a Jedi matter. If Palpatine hears of this, both Kenobi and Skywalker will die.”
“What?” Anakin says, but two of the droids have seized his elbows and are frog-marching him out of the room. He twists to look over his shoulder, trying to hear what Windu and Yoda are saying, but the door slides shut behind him. He stops fighting the droids as soon as it does and they loosen their grips – they must have been ordered not to be too harsh with him. They settle into formation around him on the way back to his cell, where they deposit him and lock the door behind him.
Anakin drops down onto the bed and broods in his misery, trying to remind himself that the grim figure of Obi-Wan in the bacta tank is a good thing, even though it doesn’t feel that way. Under normal circumstances he’d be more troubled by what Dooku had meant when he ordered Master Windu and Master Yoda not to tell the Supreme Chancellor of their captivity, but worry for his master is consuming him now, so that he can barely think of anything else. He knows that Dooku had tried to recruit Obi-Wan once before, but Dooku has to know that Obi-Wan will never leave the Jedi. The Order is her life, in a way that it will never be Anakin’s no matter how hard he tries to make it be. And if Dooku had only wanted Obi-Wan, then why bring Anakin as well? Why go ahead and let him report to the Jedi Council?
None of it makes any sense. Anakin flops back on the bed, which isn’t particularly comfortable, but is a lot better than most of the places he’s been sleeping lately, and stares up at the ceiling. He misses the Force like he misses his right hand, like he misses Obi-Wan and Padmé. Whatever Dooku’s been experimenting with, it definitely works. He ought to have told the Council –
The Jedi will come for them. The Jedi will come for them, because they’ll never leave any of their own behind, and if they don’t come in time, then Anakin and Obi-Wan will find a way out of this on their own, because that’s what they do. Even if he isn’t certain about anything else, Anakin is certain of that.
*
tbc
read href="http://bedlamsbard.dreamwidth.org/727666.html">chapter 2 or the whole story on the AO3.
Right now, the only thing that Anakin Skywalker wants in the universe is a hot shower and a warm bed. He’s even willing to forego the shower if it gets him into bed quicker. They’re still a few klicks from Crimson Station, which means a few more klicks of trudging through twelve kinds of muck in pouring rain, which weighs down his robes and soaks through his clothes down to the bone. Even the clones’ armor isn’t white anymore, just a few patches showing through the mud that slicks over it like a second coat of paint. At least they’re well-camouflaged.
“Master,” he complains faintly, not really expecting Obi-Wan to hear him over the rain and the squelching sound of the marching troopers – no war machines here; they’d be even more useless than on Jabiim, “how much further?”
“As long as it takes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replies, tired and distracted. She tugs her hood closer over her face, shadowing it completely, and tucks her hands into the sleeves of her robe. In the gloom she looks like nothing more than a slight brownish bulk, a little paler than the surrounding darkness. Sunset had been a few hours ago. Anakin doesn’t know what time it is now and can’t bring himself to care.
Just another couple of hours, he tells himself. Just another couple hours, and then they’ll be at Crimson Station, where they can fall into bed and let Master Unduli take over until they’re forced to rouse themselves from unconsciousness. Funny how everyone had claimed that this planet was firmly in the Republic’s grasp until the Separatists had turned up, firmly ensconced on the surface like they’d been here for years. Maybe they have. Maybe they’ve been being lied to all along and the Queen-Priestess isn’t as surprised as she’s been leading them all to believe. Maybe –
“Or maybe the Separatists have fooled her as they’ve fooled us,” Obi-Wan murmurs, picking up the stray thought from the front of Anakin’s mind. “Mind your thoughts, my Padawan.”
“Yes, Master,” Anakin mutters. “Sorry, Master.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t reply, her own misery sunk deep into the Force around them despite her best intentions. Anakin think of a lot of things to say, but Obi-Wan clearly doesn’t want to talk and Anakin’s really too tired to have a real conversation. Just a few more hours, he tells himself. Just a few more hours, then they’ll be at Crimson Station and they can hand off their duties to Master Unduli and her Padawan.
He’s so obsessed with the thought that he almost misses the faint whisper in the Force that precludes a Sep attack.
“Master!” he cries, but Obi-Wan has felt it to and is already spinning around, her movement slowed by the thick mud. Her lightsaber blazes blue in her hand, raindrops sizzling into steam as they hit the blade; Anakin follows in the same heartbeat, teeth bared in a grimace as he squints into the darkness, reaching out with the Force to find the Sep forces before the shooting starts. He’s so tired; all he senses is a vast blankness and the warm, reassuring presence of Obi-Wan beside him.
The clones, alerted by his cry, are starting to spread out, moving into position a little slowly because of the mud. An ARC trooper is barking orders – Anakin thinks that it’s Cody, but he can’t actually tell, he’s too tired to expend the extra effort to tell one clone from another.
He realizes belatedly that they’ve walked into an ambush when the first rocket explodes in the middle of the column behind them. It sends them reeling backwards, clones flying everywhere and Anakin’s lightsaber extinguishing when he falls flat on his ass, and he shoves aside the sound of screaming to take in what the explosion has illuminated: they’ve walked into a canyon, and its steep walls are so thickly covered with droids that it looks like they’ve grown there. Blaster fire rains down on them as Anakin scrambles for his lightsaber, Obi-Wan deflecting the shots and cursing in a way that’s completely unfitting for a Jedi Knight as the clones start to return fire, medics shouting and pulling the wounded under what cover they can manage. A sharp whistle heralds the approach of a second rocket; Anakin thrusts out his ungloved hand and shoves with the Force, stopping the rocket in mid-air. It wiggles slightly, fighting him, and he bites his lip until he tastes blood, willing it slowly back as it reverses course – and then goes, flying back in the direction it came from. Droid parts erupt in the air as it explodes.
“Good job, Anakin,” Obi-Wan pants, parrying a blaster bolt.
“Any time, Master,” Anakin says, igniting his own lightsaber.
“Cody, get Blue Squad to cover our retreat!” Obi-Wan orders, the Force behind her words so that they carry. “Get the wounded out of here! We’ll bring up the rear –”
She flings her free hand out, sending two droidekas flying backwards amongst their fellows, her eyes nearly crossed in concentration as she deflects a third rocket. Anakin covers her, his lightsaber flashing before his eyes as he parries bolts.
“General, Commander, you ought to get out of here,” Cody says, settling in beside them with his blaster cradled lovingly in his arms. “We’ll cover you –”
“Cover the retreat, Cody,” Obi-Wan snaps. “That’s an order! Anakin and I will take care of this.”
“All right – hey! Get these clones out of here!” he shouts, waving his arm to get their attention. “Go, go, go!”
Anakin’s ears are ringing with the sound of blaster fire. If his hearing wasn’t already busted after a lifetime in close proximity to fast speeders and faster starfighters, much to his Master’s dismay, the war probably would have done it. As it is, he can barely hear Cody’s shouting over the din; the only reason he doesn’t miss Obi-Wan’s yell is because she grabs the back of his robe and yells in his ear, “Time to go, Anakin –”
His name ends in a wet, choked off sound as Obi-Wan stumbles backwards, dragging him down with her grip on his robe. “Master!” he cries, his lightsaber fallen forgotten into the mud.
They’re both so filthy that he can’t distinguish blood from mud, but he can feel her life flickering and fading in the Force as she gasps, bubbles of blood at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes are wide and blank, her hands clasping and unclasping weakly on his robe as Anakin bends over her, all coherent thought gone out of his mind except no no no not again no –
It’s like his mother on Tatooine all over again, like Jabiim and Aargonar and a hundred other worlds where Jedi and clones have died gasping under his hands. Anakin presses his forehead against his master’s, his tears cutting tracks through the mud on his face, and grasps for the strands of the Force.
“Not this time,” he snarls. “Not this time – come on, Obi-Wan, stay with me, I’m going to save you –”
He knows how to heal, of course, all Jedi do, but he’s never been any good at it. A true Jedi healer could go in and take care of everything that’s damaged, stitch together torn tissue and muscle and broken bones with nothing but their mind, but all Anakin can do is think frantically fix it and shoves the Force into Obi-Wan, running one hand over the place on her torso where the worst damage seems to be.
Obi-Wan spasms, her back arching as she tries to scream, her blood gurgling in her throat. Anakin grips her close, words tumbling over his tongue as he begs her to stay with him, to live, because he can’t lose her too, not again, please.
He doesn’t see the combat droids until they’re practically on top of them.
“No –” Anakin protests, his lightsaber flying into his hand, but he doesn’t even make it to his feet before a droid smashes its rifle into the back of his skull and he falls face-down across Obi-Wan’s body, tasting blood and mud in the instant before unconsciousness comes.
*
When Anakin wakes up, he thinks, Obi-Wan, and reaches out for her with his mind, panic increasing when he can’t find her. Using the Force feels like swimming through mud; he shoves with his mind, trying to find his way through, because his master has to be there somewhere – at last he finds her, though he can’t seem to focus long enough to tell her where she is or how badly she’s hurt, just that she’s alive.
Something’s weird about this, though. Anakin lets the Force carry him along, drifting in little waves and eddies through the bog of it. This isn’t normal, not for him. And – there are only a few life forms in his immediate vicinity. Lots of mechanicals – droids, mostly – but no clones, no other Jedi but him and Obi-Wan, and –
He sits bolt upright, his eyes flying open.
He’s sitting in a small room, all gray durasteel with diamond patterns on the floor and walls. His wrists are cuffed together in front of him; his robe and utility belt, with his lightsaber and comlink, are missing. He touches his fingers to the back of his head gingerly, wincing when he finds dried blood clotted in his filthy hair. He remembers the droid knocking him out with the butt of its rifle, which is a new one for him – the Separatists don’t take captives unless they can get something out of it. The droids should have blown him and Obi-Wan away, not that he’s complaining, except he doesn’t like mysteries and this is definitely one of them.
Anakin glances up. Air vent to his right, tucked against the ceiling – too small for a human to get through. Door directly in front of him. He hops off the hard cot and goes over to inspect, running his fingers over the wall beside it in hopes of finding a control panel, but as far as he can tell there isn’t one on this side of the room. It’s a cell, never meant to be opened from the inside. In the corner of the room opposite the air vent is what Anakin is pretty sure is a camera, though it’s no kind he’s ever seen before.
He waves his cuffed hands at it. “Hey, you! Whoever’s watching this! I want to see my master right now, or the fact that you’ve just kidnapped two Jedi is going to be the least of your problems.”
He really doesn’t want to think about the fact that the Jedi Council has probably written them off as dead, because who knows how long they’ve been here, but that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that he and Obi-Wan are both here, and as long as they’re together, then they can get out of this.
He shouts at the camera some more, mostly to relieve his own anxiety rather than because he thinks anyone’s going to respond, then goes and sits back down on the cot, wondering where the hell he is and what they’ve done with Obi-Wan. At least he knows that she’s alive, thanks to the Force, but he has no idea what condition she’s in or how badly injured she really is. It had felt bad, back on the planet, but now Anakin just can’t tell. At least she’s alive.
“It’s strange how we keep meeting like this, Skywalker.”
Anakin leaps up as the door slides open, revealing Count Dooku, elegant in black – almost a mockery of the Jedi uniform. Anakin glances at the lightsaber on his belt, then demands, “Where’s Obi-Wan?”
“If you were my Padawan, Skywalker, I would teach you patience,” Dooku says, sounding faintly annoyed. “And manners.”
“Where is Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Anakin repeats, ignoring him.
“Master Kenobi was badly injured in the ambush,” Dooku concedes, looking Anakin up and down as if he doesn’t like what he sees. That’s all right; Anakin isn’t too fond of the view either. “She is currently being treated for her injuries. My medical droids inform me that she ought to recover without permanent damage.”
“I want to see her.”
“She wouldn’t be aware of it,” Dooku says. “She’s in a bacta tank.”
“She’ll know,” Anakin says. His voice sounds cold to his ears; he clenches both fists, flesh and metal, wanting to wrap his fingers around Dooku’s throat.
“Your devotion to your young master is remarkable, Padawan,” Dooku says. He looks at Anakin again, his expression considering. “Very well. I shall permit you to see her, so long as you give me your parole not to attempt to escape or harm me. If you betray your word, I shall kill first Obi-Wan Kenobi, then you. Do I have your oath?”
Anakin hesitates, then nods, thinking of the horrible gasping sound Obi-Wan had made as she bled out in the mud and muck of the planet’s surface. “I give you my word as a Jedi.” He thrusts his hands out towards Dooku. “Take the cuffs off.”
“Not part of the bargain, I’m afraid,” Dooku says.
Anakin lets his hands drop. “I need to report to the Jedi Council.”
“Really,” Dooku says, sounding mildly entertained. “And why would I permit you to do that?”
“You’ve never taken captives before,” Anakin says cautiously. “So you must want something from us. If you’re going to ransom us or – or trade us, or something, you need to let the Republic know we’re alive, or they’ll think you’re lying. And it will go better if Obi-Wan or I tell them that, but since Obi-Wan can’t –”
“There’s one thing you haven’t considered, young Skywalker.”
“What’s that?”
“Perhaps I don’t want the Republic to know that you and Master Kenobi live,” Dooku says, and turns away, cape fluttering after him. Anakin follows him, glancing around and trying to memorize everything he sees, because the Republic might never get another chance like this to see the inside of Dooku’s command carrier up close. Of course, the importance of that is predicated on their eventually making it back to Republic territory, but Anakin is trying not to think about that right now.
Everywhere he looks there are droids. Some of them glance at him curiously, but most seem content to ignore him, focused on their duties. He has the uncomfortable feeling that besides him, Obi-Wan, and Dooku, there might not be another life form on the entire ship. He reaches out with the Force again, trying to find out for sure, but it’s the same as it had been before – like swimming through mud. He shakes his head, reaching up with his cuffed hands to pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
“If you’re trying to use the Force, Skywalker, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Count Dooku says over his shoulder.
“Why not?” Anakin demands.
“Because I’ve given you a drug that obstructs your ability to connect with the Force,” says Dooku. “It’s experimental, but preliminary reports have been promising. And I see it’s working.”
Anakin stops dead in the hallway, staring at him. “What?”
Dooku beckons him forward. “Don’t concern yourself overmuch. When the drug wears off, you should be able to interact with your midichlorians again.”
“Should be able to – who are you doing these experiments on, anyway?”
“That’s none of your concern. Come along, Skywalker. You do wish to see your master, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Anakin says, scowling at his back as he starts moving forward again. But Dooku’s wrong, he thinks distractedly. He can still feel the Force; it’s just more difficult than it usually is for him. But his midichlorian count is so high – maybe for an ordinary Jedi it’s like being blind and deaf.
He resists the urge to chew on a fingernail, which Obi-Wan has been trying to train him out of for years. Dooku leads him through the guts of the ship, past ranks of powered-down battle droids; Anakin doesn’t need the Force to tell him that the Sith Lord is showing off the power of the Confederacy. He resists the urge to shout at Count Dooku; he’s more than aware of what the Confederacy is capable of, he just wants to see Obi-Wan.
Dooku finally leads him into a room with a single bacta tank in the center of it. There’s a medical droid standing beside it, but Anakin doesn’t care about that, shoving forward into the room as Count Dooku steps aside. Stripped of her Jedi robes, the cloud of her red hair free of its usual elaborate braids, Obi-Wan looks smaller and younger, almost delicate as she floats in the bacta. The blaster wounds on her torso don’t look as bad as Anakin had feared, but it might just be the bacta obscuring them. He’s seen Obi-Wan naked or nearly naked enough times before; he doesn’t spare time looking at her bare legs or the curve of her breasts beneath the breast-band someone has modestly put her in.
“Give me that,” he demands, snatching the datapad from the medical droid’s hands and checking Obi-Wan’s vitals. Everything looks like it’s in order, he’s relieved to find as he scrolls through the report. Heartbeat steady, lost blood replaced – he’s not going to ask from where, since it doesn’t exactly look like there are a lot of donors lined up – wounds clean of infection, everything looks good. She’s been in the bacta for almost twenty-four hours already; the estimate for full recovery is another eighteen before she should be moved to a bed. Anakin runs down the list of administered drugs, trying to find the unfamiliar Force-blocker that Dooku had given him. If Obi-Wan can’t use the Force, it will take her twice as long to heal, maybe more. If Dooku had given it to her, it’s not there.
“Content, young Skywalker?” Dooku inquires.
Anakin hands the datapad back to the droid and flattens his palms against the glass, looking up at Obi-Wan as he reaches out with the Force. Knowing what’s blocking him doesn’t make it any easier, but this close he can feel Obi-Wan’s life force, strong and steady and familiar.
“I want to stay with her,” he says, not looking back at Dooku.
“You make an unusual number of demands for a Padawan,” Count Dooku observes.
“I gave you my parole,” Anakin insists. “Obi-Wan’s wounded, it’s not like she’s going anywhere, and I won’t go anywhere without her, anyway. She’s my master. It’s my duty to stay with her.”
“So devoted, even for a Padawan,” says the count. “No. You may give your report to the Jedi Council, then you will be escorted back to your cell. Once Master Kenobi has been removed from the bacta, I will reconsider your request.”
“But –” Anakin protests automatically, then stops, blinking. “You’re going to let me talk to the Council? Why?”
“Perhaps you made a compelling argument, young Skywalker. Perhaps I am merely curious to see how my old master responds to this unique situation of yours.” He makes an impatient gesture towards Anakin.
Obi-Wan’s face is so calm, so still in the murky bacta liquid. Anakin lingers as long as he can, then drags himself away from the tank and follows Dooku back into the hallway, glancing over his shoulder at his master. Why? Why save two of the Republic’s heroes, then give Obi-Wan Kenobi medical treatment for the wounds she’d sustained at the hands of Dooku’s own forces? None of it makes any sense; Anakin has no idea what Dooku thinks he can get from them. He wonders if he dares ask.
Dooku doesn’t take him all the way up to the bridge, just takes him into another small room with a holocom in it. Anakin programs the Council’s information into it, wondering if this is some kind of a trick, and steps up onto the platform, grinning in relief when Master Yoda’s and Master Windu’s figures flicker into sight in front of him.
“Skywalker!” says Windu, sounding relieved as Anakin makes his formal bow. “Where are you? Master Unduli reported that you and Obi-Wan had never made it to Crimson Station and your clone commander reported you lost.”
“Yes, Masters,” Anakin says, apology creeping into his voice. “We – we’ve been captured by Count Dooku. Master Obi-Wan was badly injured in the ambush, I was knocked unconscious, and Dooku brought us here and treated us. I’ve seen Obi-Wan; she’s in a bacta tank right now, but it looks like she’ll be all right.”
“An aggressive move this is,” Master Yoda says. “There with you, Count Dooku is?”
Dooku steps on the platform besides Anakin. “I am here, my old master.”
“We require the immediate return of Master Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker,” Windu informs him. He and Master Yoda exchange an unreadable look, then Windu grimaces and goes on, “Name your ransom.”
“I don’t intend to ransom them,” says Dooku.
“Then what do you want?” Anakin says bitterly. “If you think you can recruit Obi-Wan, you’re wrong, she’ll never turn to the Dark Side –”
“I have always been of the opinion that Padawans should be seen and not heard,” Dooku muses. “You’ve given your report to the Council. Guards, escort young Skywalker back to his cell.”
“Wait!” Anakin protests as four battle droids step forward. “I –”
“Stay with Obi-Wan, Anakin,” Windu orders. “We will inform the Supreme Chancellor immediately –”
“No,” Dooku snaps. “This is a Jedi matter. If Palpatine hears of this, both Kenobi and Skywalker will die.”
“What?” Anakin says, but two of the droids have seized his elbows and are frog-marching him out of the room. He twists to look over his shoulder, trying to hear what Windu and Yoda are saying, but the door slides shut behind him. He stops fighting the droids as soon as it does and they loosen their grips – they must have been ordered not to be too harsh with him. They settle into formation around him on the way back to his cell, where they deposit him and lock the door behind him.
Anakin drops down onto the bed and broods in his misery, trying to remind himself that the grim figure of Obi-Wan in the bacta tank is a good thing, even though it doesn’t feel that way. Under normal circumstances he’d be more troubled by what Dooku had meant when he ordered Master Windu and Master Yoda not to tell the Supreme Chancellor of their captivity, but worry for his master is consuming him now, so that he can barely think of anything else. He knows that Dooku had tried to recruit Obi-Wan once before, but Dooku has to know that Obi-Wan will never leave the Jedi. The Order is her life, in a way that it will never be Anakin’s no matter how hard he tries to make it be. And if Dooku had only wanted Obi-Wan, then why bring Anakin as well? Why go ahead and let him report to the Jedi Council?
None of it makes any sense. Anakin flops back on the bed, which isn’t particularly comfortable, but is a lot better than most of the places he’s been sleeping lately, and stares up at the ceiling. He misses the Force like he misses his right hand, like he misses Obi-Wan and Padmé. Whatever Dooku’s been experimenting with, it definitely works. He ought to have told the Council –
The Jedi will come for them. The Jedi will come for them, because they’ll never leave any of their own behind, and if they don’t come in time, then Anakin and Obi-Wan will find a way out of this on their own, because that’s what they do. Even if he isn’t certain about anything else, Anakin is certain of that.
*
tbc
read href="http://bedlamsbard.dreamwidth.org/727666.html">chapter 2 or the whole story on the AO3.