Star Wars fic: "Dirt in the Machine" (2)
Feb. 22nd, 2012 04:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardMore lady!Obi-Wan. Light Anakin/Obi-Wan. First part here. It is also up at the AO3 here. In theory; the AO3 seems to exist to screw with me.
Thanks todogstar for talking this through with me!
Obi-Wan feels like she’s floating. It’s a peculiarly weightless feeling, like the time that she and Anakin had gone cloud-surfing on Ifgar III – colorless mists all around them, no solid ground, no sky, nothing at all but them, and the mists, and the Force.
This time she can’t feel the Force.
The realization makes her panic, her mind opening up as she shoves mentally outwards, grasping frantically for the familiar threads of the Force and finding herself blocked every time, like running face first into an energy wall, like standing frozen in horror in the Palace of Theed as her entire world came crashing down around her ears. Obi-Wan opens her mouth to scream, the way she’d screamed when Qui-Gon died, and opens her eyes to a plain metal ceiling above her.
Obi-Wan blinks.
She raises her head slightly, looking from side to side. She’s in a small room, an empty bacta tank standing abandoned to her left. Anakin is sitting on her other side, leaning on her bed with his head pillowed on his arms, snoring slightly – a soft, familiar sound. Obi-Wan raises her hand to touch his hair and his drawn short by a jerk and a soft click of metal on metal. She looks to see what’s stopped her, puzzled, and is surprised to find herself handcuffed to the bed.
“This isn’t a Republic med center,” she says out loud.
“Master!” Anakin jerks upright, his eyes wide. “You’re awake!”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says slowly, sitting up and trying not to wince. Anakin puts his cuffed hands out to help her, looking at her with worried eyes. “Where are we?”
“We – we’re on Count Dooku’s command cruiser,” he explains, faintly shame-faced. “We were captured in the ambush – you were badly wounded, and they took me by surprise while I was trying to help you. Dooku’s given you medical treatment,” he adds, like that’s any kind of reassurance. “You came out of a bacta tank a few hours ago.”
Obi-Wan touches her free hand to her torso, where she can remember, like a bad dream, blaster bolts ripping through her, searing through flesh and muscle and taking her life’s blood with them. Through the crinkly hospital gown she’s wearing she can feel layers of bandage. “Why? Dooku has no love for Jedi.”
“I think he’s…recruiting,” Anakin says reluctantly, looking as revolted by the idea as Obi-Wan feels. “He let me contact the Jedi Council for a couple of minutes, and he said that he didn’t want to ransom us, and that if the Council told the Supreme Chancellor, he’d kill us both, that this was a Jedi matter. And you know he’s always been kind of obsessed with you because of Master Qui-Gon –”
“I am aware,” Obi-Wan says. “How long has it been?”
“I think – two days?” Anakin says. “I was knocked out, and when I came to I was here. You were in the bacta tank for thirty-two hours; they let me out of my cell and locked me in here with you when they took you out of it.”
“But the Council knows we’re here,” Obi-Wan mutters. She runs her free hand through her hair, loose around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”
He nods. “Just a knock on the head, and Dooku’s drugs – he’s got something that blocks Force ability.”
That explains her nightmare. “A mask?” Obi-Wan questions. “Like what Ventress used –”
“No, some kind of drug. They’ve stuck me with it twice already. You too, I think.”
Obi-Wan winces; she’s never liked needles. She looks at the IV in her arm. “Take this out,” she orders.
“Uh, Master, I don’t think –”
“Take it out!” Softer, she adds, “I don’t know what it is.”
“I think it’s a painkiller,” Anakin offers, but he reaches for it anyway, graceful despite his bonds. Obi-Wan glances away so that she doesn’t have to see the needle come out of her skin, bracing herself for the prick of pain, but it never comes; the door slides open and Anakin shifts, moving into a defensive posture as Count Dooku enters the room.
“Ah, Master Kenobi,” he says. “How good of you to join us. How are you feeling?”
“A bit puzzled,” Obi-Wan says. “My Padawan tells me you don’t intend to ransom us back to the Republic and that you instructed the Jedi Council not to inform the Supreme Chancellor of our captivity. Might I ask why?”
“For a very good reason,” says Count Dooku. “Do you remember what I told you back on Geonosis?”
Obi-Wan meets his eyes. “About what Qui-Gon Jinn might have done when presented with your offer?”
“That as well, but I was thinking of something else.” His gaze is as sharp as any Jedi’s.
“You said that a Sith Lord controlled the Senate,” Obi-Wan says, allowing herself to frown a little as she works out the implications in her head. “We have had no evidence of this accusation –”
“It is the truth,” Count Dooku says.
“So in order to convince the Council of this, you kidnapped two Jedi and threatened to kill us if we warned the Senate – and the spy?” Obi-Wan sniffs. “Somehow I doubt your sincerity, Count.”
“I have no doubt of that, Master Kenobi. I have no love for the Jedi, and the Jedi have no love for me.”
“You say that like it’s a surprise. All the people you killed? I knew them!” Anakin snaps, bouncing on the balls of his feet, moving a little to put himself between Dooku and Obi-Wan. “What do you want with us?”
“With you, Skywalker? Nothing. With your master, now –”
“You can’t have her!” Anakin says, alarm in his voice. He shifts again as Count Dooku moves, his gaze steady on Obi-Wan’s.
She looks back at him. “I told you once before, Count Dooku: I will not join you. I am a Jedi.”
“So was I once,” he says. “There are many things that will tempt a Jedi to the Dark Side, Master Kenobi. Ambition – grief – anger – love.” He puts his hand out, not touching Anakin, and closes his fist.
Anakin gasps, his hands flying to his throat as he struggles with an invisible grip. Obi-Wan starts forward, the cuff on her wrist jerking her to a sudden halt. “What are you doing?” she demands, grabbing for the Force to help her and finding herself blocked: the energy walls all over again, and she feels a sudden, deafening fear that her nightmare hadn’t been one at all, but precognition. The Jedi gift that she has always hated. “Let him go!”
Anakin claws his bound hands at thin air, his face turning slowly purple as he fights for air. “Master,” he gasps out, the word tearing at the air between him, a ragged edge to the vowels. Obi-Wan yanks at the cuff, frantic to get to him, but she’s only human: without the Force, she doesn’t have the strength to break it.
Dooku watches Anakin with a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” he says. “That the Code places such importance on a Jedi’s lack of attachment, yet at the same time, the Council fosters the relationship between Master and Padawan. You know what it’s like to lose your Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You tasted the Dark Side then. What will you do if you lose your Padawan as well?”
“Anakin isn’t a part of this!” Obi-Wan exclaims, forcing back the fear, the rage, with her greatest effort and not quite succeeding. Something hums in the swift beating of her pulse, something even deeper than her connection with the Force, something that whispers Anakin Anakin Anakin. “If this is between us, Dooku –”
“You survived one great loss, Master Kenobi,” says Dooku, ignoring her as she pulls at her handcuff, the metal clanking against the arm of her hospital bed. “Yet so many Jedi have, especially since this war began. I like to think that I know you better than you might believe. Killing Skywalker won’t turn you to the Dark Side. The reverse might be true, but I am not my master; I have very little interest in the boy.” He opens his hand, and Anakin collapses to the floor, clutching at his throat and gasping. He pushes himself up slowly, glaring bloody murder at Dooku.
“You –” he spits, his voice hoarse and ragged.
“Anakin, peace!” Obi-Wan demands of him, and sees his mouth form protest before he submits, kneeling on the floor with his hands still pressed to his throat, where bruises are forming on the pale skin. Obi-Wan Kenobi raises her chin, drawing her dignity around her in lieu of the Force, and meets Count Dooku’s eyes. “What do you want from us, Count?”
The Sith Lord seems satisfied by her response. “A matter that we may discuss at a later point,” he says. “I will send a droid with a change of clothes – your own were quite ruined, I’m afraid – and you and your apprentice may join me at dinner.”
“I’m a bit tied up at the moment,” Obi-Wan makes herself say, holding up her cuffed hand. “I don’t suppose you’d be so kind?”
Dooku makes a motion with his hand and the cuff clicks open. Obi-Wan pulls her hand free immediately, glancing down at the ring on her wrist where the cuff has scraped it raw in the few minutes since Dooku started choking Anakin. “My thanks.”
He inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment, then turns and leaves, the door closing and locking behind him. Obi-Wan slides out of the bed and hurries to Anakin, kneeling down beside him and putting her arm around him. He leans against her immediately, his whole body stiff with shock.
“He tried to kill me!” he croaks.
“No,” Obi-Wan says. “He wanted to show us that he could.”
Anakin shudders and presses his face against her neck, his breathing still with that awful, ugly edge in it. Obi-Wan touches the back of his head, her fingers unerringly finding the spot where his fine hair is still matted with dried blood. He flinches a little and she pulls away quickly, though Anakin doesn’t release his grip on her.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m annoyed,” he says, sitting back. “Sorry, Master – I know that’s not very Jedi-like of me.”
“I suspect even Master Yoda has been annoyed on occasion,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing her wrist.
“I think Master Windu is annoyed all the time, at least judging by the expression on his face,” Anakin confesses. He leans his head against her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re all right, Master. I didn’t like thinking that I might be all alone here with Count Dooku and the clankers, or that I’d have to figure out some way to haul you out of a bacta tank and onto some kind of escape pod.”
“I have every faith in you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says.
He twists to look at her. “Not that I would have left you behind, Master. You know I wouldn’t –”
“I know, Anakin,” she tells him gently. “You’ve done well in a difficult situation.”
He beams tiredly at her. “Anything for you, Master. You know that.”
Obi-Wan is saved from formulating a response to this extraordinary statement by the arrival of a droid carrying a pile of clothing and, more importantly, the key to Anakin’s binders. He seizes on this with an expression of great relief, while Obi-Wan thanks the droid and inspects the clothes. Not her clothes, or anything she’d wear under normal circumstances: tight dark pants, with a pale purple tunic beneath a deep violet leather jerkin with pearl buttons on the collar and cuffs. Anakin gives her a deeply appreciative look as she sits down on the edge of the hospital bed to pull on the matching boots, wincing as the movement pulls at her bandaged wounds. He grins at her in apology when she raises an eyebrow, then holds out a hairbrush.
Obi-Wan drags it through her hair, which she then separates out into four sections, braiding each of them and wrapping two around the crown of her head, then coiling the others around each other in a figure eight at the nape of her neck and pinning them into place. Anakin watches her silently, handing her pin after pin until everything seems secure.
“Do you think those are Ventress’ clothes?” Anakin says, sitting down on the bed beside her as they wait for the droid to come back. He looks revolted by the idea.
Obi-Wan, who hasn’t considered this, rather feels likewise. “I don’t believe so,” she says after a moment. “Asajj Ventress is taller than I am, and this fits too well.”
“Like he had it tailored for you?” Anakin says, even more revolted. “That’s really creepy. You look pretty, though.”
“Thanks,” she says dryly. “I’m so glad you think so.”
He chews absently on a fingernail, his sleeve falling back to reveal the redness on his wrist where the handcuff had been. “I need to tell you something, Master,” he decides eventually.
Obi-Wan looks at him quickly, wondering what else Dooku has done. “What is it? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he says, then grins a little, almost shy. “You know that drug that Dooku’s been giving us, the one that inhibits use of the Force?”
“Are you saying it doesn’t work on you?” Obi-Wan demands. Anakin’s midichlorian count is so high that she supposes it’s just possible.
“No, it definitely works,” Anakin says quickly. “It just doesn’t work…all the way. I can still feel the Force, but not enough to do anything. I can sense you, and Dooku, and I could probably take apart the ship’s engine if I could get at it, but that’s about it. I can’t manipulate it.”
“That could be useful,” Obi-Wan says. “I’m afraid I have no connection with the Force at all at the moment. It’s quite disconcerting.”
Anakin winces, probably not even aware he’s doing it. “We’ll fix it, Master. It can’t be permanent. Dooku’s obsessed with you; he’d never do anything to screw up his favorite Jedi permanently.”
“What an awful thought,” Obi-Wan says distastefully. “I do hope he’s prepared to be disappointed.”
“I hope so. You’d make a really scary Sith.”
Both of them stand up as the door slides open again, revealing the same droid that had brought her the clothes earlier. “Count Dooku will see you now,” it announces. “Please follow me.”
“Well, it’s not like we have any other plans,” Anakin says, falling into step beside Obi-Wan as they follow the droid out into the hall.
This isn’t the first time that Obi-Wan has been on a ship run mostly or entirely by droids, but it’s as discomfiting as ever, even without the Force to whisper in her ear that something is wrong, something is very wrong, they shouldn’t be this far out in deep space without another living being somewhere around them. She rubs her hand over the back of her neck, wondering if it bothers Anakin as much as it does her. It’s entirely possible that he doesn’t even notice; sometimes she thinks that he likes droids more than he likes people. Not that Obi-Wan can always blame him.
“You know, I gave Dooku my parole,” Anakin mutters suddenly to her. “It was the only way he’d let me see you. Should I not have done that?”
“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan murmurs back. “Dooku used to be a Jedi. He won’t expect you to keep your word.”
For all the much-vaunted honor of the Jedi, there’s only one code they keep to, and it has nothing in it about telling the truth or keeping one’s word. Obi-Wan doesn’t like to go that far if she can help it, but if there’s one thing that Obi-Wan has learned in this war, it’s that there’s no such thing as honor. There is only what needs to be done for the Order and the Republic. She hopes that Anakin has grown to learn this as well.
The droid shows them into what Obi-Wan guesses is normally Dooku’s office, though now his desk is tucked against the window – currently deep in hyperspace, she observes – and a square table has been placed in the center of the room, with Dooku waiting at one end and places set for three. He seems pleased to see them.
“Colors flatter you, Master Kenobi. I would give you more compliments if I thought you would appreciate them, but I have no doubt that Qui-Gon Jinn taught you better. He was, like you are, a true Jedi.”
“You’re not fit to speak his name,” Obi-Wan says, with a faint pang. “I’m glad he didn’t live to see what became of his former master – that you would join with the very people who murdered him.”
“Come, come, Master Kenobi. I’ve seen the security holos; Qui-Gon died fighting and he died well. It is a pity; I would very much like him to be here today.”
“I don’t have to listen to this filth,” Obi-Wan says, the old anger threatening to boil up inside her. It’s not at all fitting for a Jedi Knight, and she does her best to shove it down. “If all you’re going to do is slander Qui-Gon’s name, then I believe I’d prefer to be returned to my cell.”
Anakin mutters a grumpy affirmative, glaring at Dooku.
The Sith Lord’s smile turns chilly. “Let’s make a bargain, you and I, Master Kenobi. If you try to escape –”
“You’ll have me killed?” Obi-Wan says archly, raising one eyebrow. “I do not fear death, Count.”
“You’re far too valuable to kill,” Dooku says. “No. If you try to escape, I’ll kill your Padawan. And if you try anything, young Skywalker –”
“You won’t kill Obi-Wan,” Anakin challenges. “You just said that.”
“Indeed. If you try anything, what happens to Master Kenobi will not be pleasant for either of you. I recommend that you don’t attempt to find out.”
Anakin bites the inside of his cheek, glaring silently at Dooku as he takes a step closer to Obi-Wan. She gives him her most reassuring look, wishing she could encourage him with the Force. “Qui-Gon would be so pleased, I’m sure,” she tells Dooku instead.
“Don’t be impertinent, Master Kenobi, it doesn’t suit you,” he says, sounding bored. “Do we have a bargain?”
“Very well,” Obi-Wan says reluctantly. “Anakin?”
He jerks his head in something that’s probably meant to be a nod, glaring bloody murder.
They sit at Dooku’s invitation, Obi-Wan ignoring the way the back of her neck prickles when she’s near him and concentrating on the food instead, which is brought out by a protocol droid and is, indeed, quite good. Anakin stabs at it with his fork like he’s intent on doing it serious physical damage. Under other circumstances Obi-Wan might correct him, but she can’t bring herself to do so, not with Dooku staring down at them. Obi-Wan is a Jedi; separating body from mind is her specialty. She cleans her plate, her body desperate for solid nourishment after almost two days in a bacta tank.
“What do you want with us, Count Dooku?” she says over her second glass of wine. “You’ve already said that you don’t plan on ransoming us back to the Republic. So far you’ve given me medical treatment, blocked our use of the Force, tortured my Padawan, allowed him to contact the Council but forbidden them from informing the Supreme Chancellor, and threatened to kill or torture us. I must admit that I’m a bit confused.”
“With Skywalker? Nothing. His only significance is to you, not me.”
Anakin glowers silently at him.
“What do you want with me, then?” Obi-Wan rephrases, wishing she had the Force to guide her questions. “Your droids have made a fairly good try at killing me over the past year and a half; do you really expect me to believe that you’ve had a sudden and sincere change of heart?”
“Call it a change of perspective, if you prefer,” Dooku says, tilting his head to look at her. His gaze is direct and piercing, with the power of the Force behind it; Obi-Wan realizes suddenly why non-Force sensitive beings are told never to look a Jedi in the eye. Every instinct she has is screaming at her to meet his gaze, to hold it, but without the Force behind her it would be a very bad idea. She holds it as long as she can, then lets her own gaze flicker slightly away from his, breaking the connection.
“You once taught a course at the Jedi Temple on the history of the Sith,” Dooku observes.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan allows cautiously.
“What a thrill it must have been for all those young Padawans to stand in the same room as the only Jedi in a millennium to kill a Sith Lord. Surely you, of all people, know what has always been true of the Sith.”
Anakin answers before Obi-Wan can. “Two,” he says. “There are always two, a master and an apprentice. It’s a perversion of the Jedi,” he adds, his scowl deepening.
“The Council investigates your claims of a second Sith Lord hiding in the Senate,” Obi-Wan says. “There is no evidence of this. You were wasting our time, Count. We are Jedi, not fools.”
“I find your lack of faith disturbing, Master Kenobi,” Dooku says mildly. “There is a second Sith, as it happens. As there always is.”
“Your apprentice?” Obi-Wan questions. “Someone you tricked into replacing the one who murdered Qui-Gon on Naboo – the one I killed?”
“My master,” Dooku replies. “The one who intends to replace me with a new apprentice, someone more…pliable.” His gaze drifts across the table to Anakin. “Someone young, someone whom he can easily control. My master knows the ways of the Sith well, but this blinds him to their flaws.”
“Apparently it blinds him to more than that!” Anakin snaps. “The Sith are evil. Look at this war – look in a mirror,” he sneers.
“Control your padawan, Master Kenobi, or I will,” Dooku tells Obi-Wan, raising an eyebrow.
She clenches her fist beneath the table, not liking be told how to train her own padawan even by the Jedi Council, let alone by a Sith traitor, but fear of what Dooku might do if Anakin can’t hold his tongue wins out over pride. “Anakin,” she says softly, nudging his ankle with her toe.
He sets his jaw. “I’m not afraid of you,” he tells Dooku.
“Just remember,” Dooku says, “it’s not yourself whom you should fear for.”
Anakin glances at Obi-Wan, his face creasing into worry. She closes her eyes briefly – he shouldn’t be worried about her, that’s for her to do for him – and looks back at Dooku. “Your point, Count.”
“My master has been very beneficial to me in the past. To the war, though his efforts have been…divided, to say the least. His usefulness has passed.”
“So you want the Jedi Council to remove him so that you may have a free hand,” Obi-Wan interprets.
“The Jedi want the second Sith gone,” Dooku says, “and so do I. We have something in common, Master Kenobi.”
“And in return?”
“The Senate treats with the Confederacy. Peacefully, no tricks.”
“I know a senator or two who might be persuaded,” Obi-Wan allows reluctantly. “But you understand that the Council will never allow a Sith Lord to control a significant portion of the galaxy. It is against everything the Jedi stand for.”
“Leave that to me.”
This is too easy. “Tell me the name and allow me to contact the Council,” Obi-Wan says. “I fear that I do not have the authority to speak for something this important on my own.”
“Master Kenobi,” Count Dooku says, “there is one more thing I want in return. You know what it is.”
Obi-Wan’s entire body stiffens. “No,” she says. “I will never join you, Dooku. I am a Jedi. My loyalty is to the Order and the Republic and I can be neither bought not bargained for.”
“Can’t you?” Dooku says. He flicks his fingers at the door behind them, which slides open obediently. Two battle droids enter.
Anakin and Obi-Wan both rise in one smooth movement, mirrors of each other. “Dooku,” Anakin spits, like the name itself is a curse.
“Take Master Skywalker back to the med room,” he orders. “And give him his medicine.”
“Roger roger,” the lead droid says, reaching for Anakin’s arm. He shrugs it aside, glaring bloody murder at Dooku.
“I won’t leave Master Obi-Wan,” he snaps. “Whatever you’re going to say to her, you’ll say it in front of me.”
“No, I won’t,” Dooku says. “He is quite loyal, isn’t he?” he adds to Obi-Wan. “Remind him that if he refuses to cooperate, the results will not be pleasant for either of you.”
Anakin glances at Obi-Wan. “I’ll go,” he says quickly. “But if you hurt her, I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you.”
Dooku doesn’t respond to the bait, just nods at the droids, who herd Anakin out of the room. He glances back at Obi-Wan, his expression anxious before the door closes between them. She clenches her hands on the edge of the table, her heart pounding in her throat.
“He isn’t a very good Jedi, is he,” Dooku observes.
“He’s young,” Obi-Wan says smoothly, straightening up and clasping her hands behind her back. “He still has much to learn.”
“But do you have anything more to teach him?” He stands up, looking at her steadily with the Force behind his dark gaze as he moves around the edge of the table. “You aren’t a very good Jedi either, Obi-Wan Kenobi. It isn’t your fault, of course. You were too young to become a Knight, too inexperienced to go from being a Padawan to having one yourself.”
“I was old enough. There have been many Jedi who were made Knights much younger than I,” Obi-Wan says. “Anakin has only been in the Order for eleven years. He has time – if this war gives it to him.”
“Qui-Gon failed you, Master Kenobi. The Jedi Order has failed you. You and your Padawan feel too much – too deeply. The Jedi have made you believe that this is a weakness, but they are wrong. It is a strength! Think of what you could be without them –”
“I am a Jedi Knight,” Obi-Wan says flatly. “All that I desire is the continued safety and wellbeing of the Republic – which you, by the way, threaten. I have no use for a man who turns his back on the principles that he swore to uphold – or for a man who doesn’t have any.”
“And when this war is over, the Jedi Order will have no use for a Master and a Padawan who violate one of their central tenets,” Dooku says. “But I will.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Obi-Wan says, but a slight shiver of foreboding runs down her spine.
Dooku steps close to her, running his hand down her arm. Obi-Wan is a Jedi; she keeps herself from shuddering or flinching away, but she can’t hide the tension in her body. “I’ve been watching you and Skywalker on the HoloNet for months now,” says Dooku. “If the Jedi haven’t seen it by now, then they’re even more foolish than I believed. When this war ends, you and he will both be drummed out of the Order.”
“Your eyes have betrayed you, Count,” Obi-Wan says, turning her head to watch him. “Neither Anakin nor I have ever betrayed the Code.”
“Not in body,” Dooku says. “Not yet. But you will never be the Jedi that you wish to be: you will give in to your emotions.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Obi-Wan repeats.
“Your Padawan is in love with you,” Dooku says and smiles, a self-satisfied little smirk that makes Obi-Wan’s blood run cold, “and you return it.”
*
tbc
read chapter 3.
Thanks to
dogstar for talking this through with me!Obi-Wan feels like she’s floating. It’s a peculiarly weightless feeling, like the time that she and Anakin had gone cloud-surfing on Ifgar III – colorless mists all around them, no solid ground, no sky, nothing at all but them, and the mists, and the Force.
This time she can’t feel the Force.
The realization makes her panic, her mind opening up as she shoves mentally outwards, grasping frantically for the familiar threads of the Force and finding herself blocked every time, like running face first into an energy wall, like standing frozen in horror in the Palace of Theed as her entire world came crashing down around her ears. Obi-Wan opens her mouth to scream, the way she’d screamed when Qui-Gon died, and opens her eyes to a plain metal ceiling above her.
Obi-Wan blinks.
She raises her head slightly, looking from side to side. She’s in a small room, an empty bacta tank standing abandoned to her left. Anakin is sitting on her other side, leaning on her bed with his head pillowed on his arms, snoring slightly – a soft, familiar sound. Obi-Wan raises her hand to touch his hair and his drawn short by a jerk and a soft click of metal on metal. She looks to see what’s stopped her, puzzled, and is surprised to find herself handcuffed to the bed.
“This isn’t a Republic med center,” she says out loud.
“Master!” Anakin jerks upright, his eyes wide. “You’re awake!”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says slowly, sitting up and trying not to wince. Anakin puts his cuffed hands out to help her, looking at her with worried eyes. “Where are we?”
“We – we’re on Count Dooku’s command cruiser,” he explains, faintly shame-faced. “We were captured in the ambush – you were badly wounded, and they took me by surprise while I was trying to help you. Dooku’s given you medical treatment,” he adds, like that’s any kind of reassurance. “You came out of a bacta tank a few hours ago.”
Obi-Wan touches her free hand to her torso, where she can remember, like a bad dream, blaster bolts ripping through her, searing through flesh and muscle and taking her life’s blood with them. Through the crinkly hospital gown she’s wearing she can feel layers of bandage. “Why? Dooku has no love for Jedi.”
“I think he’s…recruiting,” Anakin says reluctantly, looking as revolted by the idea as Obi-Wan feels. “He let me contact the Jedi Council for a couple of minutes, and he said that he didn’t want to ransom us, and that if the Council told the Supreme Chancellor, he’d kill us both, that this was a Jedi matter. And you know he’s always been kind of obsessed with you because of Master Qui-Gon –”
“I am aware,” Obi-Wan says. “How long has it been?”
“I think – two days?” Anakin says. “I was knocked out, and when I came to I was here. You were in the bacta tank for thirty-two hours; they let me out of my cell and locked me in here with you when they took you out of it.”
“But the Council knows we’re here,” Obi-Wan mutters. She runs her free hand through her hair, loose around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”
He nods. “Just a knock on the head, and Dooku’s drugs – he’s got something that blocks Force ability.”
That explains her nightmare. “A mask?” Obi-Wan questions. “Like what Ventress used –”
“No, some kind of drug. They’ve stuck me with it twice already. You too, I think.”
Obi-Wan winces; she’s never liked needles. She looks at the IV in her arm. “Take this out,” she orders.
“Uh, Master, I don’t think –”
“Take it out!” Softer, she adds, “I don’t know what it is.”
“I think it’s a painkiller,” Anakin offers, but he reaches for it anyway, graceful despite his bonds. Obi-Wan glances away so that she doesn’t have to see the needle come out of her skin, bracing herself for the prick of pain, but it never comes; the door slides open and Anakin shifts, moving into a defensive posture as Count Dooku enters the room.
“Ah, Master Kenobi,” he says. “How good of you to join us. How are you feeling?”
“A bit puzzled,” Obi-Wan says. “My Padawan tells me you don’t intend to ransom us back to the Republic and that you instructed the Jedi Council not to inform the Supreme Chancellor of our captivity. Might I ask why?”
“For a very good reason,” says Count Dooku. “Do you remember what I told you back on Geonosis?”
Obi-Wan meets his eyes. “About what Qui-Gon Jinn might have done when presented with your offer?”
“That as well, but I was thinking of something else.” His gaze is as sharp as any Jedi’s.
“You said that a Sith Lord controlled the Senate,” Obi-Wan says, allowing herself to frown a little as she works out the implications in her head. “We have had no evidence of this accusation –”
“It is the truth,” Count Dooku says.
“So in order to convince the Council of this, you kidnapped two Jedi and threatened to kill us if we warned the Senate – and the spy?” Obi-Wan sniffs. “Somehow I doubt your sincerity, Count.”
“I have no doubt of that, Master Kenobi. I have no love for the Jedi, and the Jedi have no love for me.”
“You say that like it’s a surprise. All the people you killed? I knew them!” Anakin snaps, bouncing on the balls of his feet, moving a little to put himself between Dooku and Obi-Wan. “What do you want with us?”
“With you, Skywalker? Nothing. With your master, now –”
“You can’t have her!” Anakin says, alarm in his voice. He shifts again as Count Dooku moves, his gaze steady on Obi-Wan’s.
She looks back at him. “I told you once before, Count Dooku: I will not join you. I am a Jedi.”
“So was I once,” he says. “There are many things that will tempt a Jedi to the Dark Side, Master Kenobi. Ambition – grief – anger – love.” He puts his hand out, not touching Anakin, and closes his fist.
Anakin gasps, his hands flying to his throat as he struggles with an invisible grip. Obi-Wan starts forward, the cuff on her wrist jerking her to a sudden halt. “What are you doing?” she demands, grabbing for the Force to help her and finding herself blocked: the energy walls all over again, and she feels a sudden, deafening fear that her nightmare hadn’t been one at all, but precognition. The Jedi gift that she has always hated. “Let him go!”
Anakin claws his bound hands at thin air, his face turning slowly purple as he fights for air. “Master,” he gasps out, the word tearing at the air between him, a ragged edge to the vowels. Obi-Wan yanks at the cuff, frantic to get to him, but she’s only human: without the Force, she doesn’t have the strength to break it.
Dooku watches Anakin with a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” he says. “That the Code places such importance on a Jedi’s lack of attachment, yet at the same time, the Council fosters the relationship between Master and Padawan. You know what it’s like to lose your Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You tasted the Dark Side then. What will you do if you lose your Padawan as well?”
“Anakin isn’t a part of this!” Obi-Wan exclaims, forcing back the fear, the rage, with her greatest effort and not quite succeeding. Something hums in the swift beating of her pulse, something even deeper than her connection with the Force, something that whispers Anakin Anakin Anakin. “If this is between us, Dooku –”
“You survived one great loss, Master Kenobi,” says Dooku, ignoring her as she pulls at her handcuff, the metal clanking against the arm of her hospital bed. “Yet so many Jedi have, especially since this war began. I like to think that I know you better than you might believe. Killing Skywalker won’t turn you to the Dark Side. The reverse might be true, but I am not my master; I have very little interest in the boy.” He opens his hand, and Anakin collapses to the floor, clutching at his throat and gasping. He pushes himself up slowly, glaring bloody murder at Dooku.
“You –” he spits, his voice hoarse and ragged.
“Anakin, peace!” Obi-Wan demands of him, and sees his mouth form protest before he submits, kneeling on the floor with his hands still pressed to his throat, where bruises are forming on the pale skin. Obi-Wan Kenobi raises her chin, drawing her dignity around her in lieu of the Force, and meets Count Dooku’s eyes. “What do you want from us, Count?”
The Sith Lord seems satisfied by her response. “A matter that we may discuss at a later point,” he says. “I will send a droid with a change of clothes – your own were quite ruined, I’m afraid – and you and your apprentice may join me at dinner.”
“I’m a bit tied up at the moment,” Obi-Wan makes herself say, holding up her cuffed hand. “I don’t suppose you’d be so kind?”
Dooku makes a motion with his hand and the cuff clicks open. Obi-Wan pulls her hand free immediately, glancing down at the ring on her wrist where the cuff has scraped it raw in the few minutes since Dooku started choking Anakin. “My thanks.”
He inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment, then turns and leaves, the door closing and locking behind him. Obi-Wan slides out of the bed and hurries to Anakin, kneeling down beside him and putting her arm around him. He leans against her immediately, his whole body stiff with shock.
“He tried to kill me!” he croaks.
“No,” Obi-Wan says. “He wanted to show us that he could.”
Anakin shudders and presses his face against her neck, his breathing still with that awful, ugly edge in it. Obi-Wan touches the back of his head, her fingers unerringly finding the spot where his fine hair is still matted with dried blood. He flinches a little and she pulls away quickly, though Anakin doesn’t release his grip on her.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m annoyed,” he says, sitting back. “Sorry, Master – I know that’s not very Jedi-like of me.”
“I suspect even Master Yoda has been annoyed on occasion,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing her wrist.
“I think Master Windu is annoyed all the time, at least judging by the expression on his face,” Anakin confesses. He leans his head against her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re all right, Master. I didn’t like thinking that I might be all alone here with Count Dooku and the clankers, or that I’d have to figure out some way to haul you out of a bacta tank and onto some kind of escape pod.”
“I have every faith in you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says.
He twists to look at her. “Not that I would have left you behind, Master. You know I wouldn’t –”
“I know, Anakin,” she tells him gently. “You’ve done well in a difficult situation.”
He beams tiredly at her. “Anything for you, Master. You know that.”
Obi-Wan is saved from formulating a response to this extraordinary statement by the arrival of a droid carrying a pile of clothing and, more importantly, the key to Anakin’s binders. He seizes on this with an expression of great relief, while Obi-Wan thanks the droid and inspects the clothes. Not her clothes, or anything she’d wear under normal circumstances: tight dark pants, with a pale purple tunic beneath a deep violet leather jerkin with pearl buttons on the collar and cuffs. Anakin gives her a deeply appreciative look as she sits down on the edge of the hospital bed to pull on the matching boots, wincing as the movement pulls at her bandaged wounds. He grins at her in apology when she raises an eyebrow, then holds out a hairbrush.
Obi-Wan drags it through her hair, which she then separates out into four sections, braiding each of them and wrapping two around the crown of her head, then coiling the others around each other in a figure eight at the nape of her neck and pinning them into place. Anakin watches her silently, handing her pin after pin until everything seems secure.
“Do you think those are Ventress’ clothes?” Anakin says, sitting down on the bed beside her as they wait for the droid to come back. He looks revolted by the idea.
Obi-Wan, who hasn’t considered this, rather feels likewise. “I don’t believe so,” she says after a moment. “Asajj Ventress is taller than I am, and this fits too well.”
“Like he had it tailored for you?” Anakin says, even more revolted. “That’s really creepy. You look pretty, though.”
“Thanks,” she says dryly. “I’m so glad you think so.”
He chews absently on a fingernail, his sleeve falling back to reveal the redness on his wrist where the handcuff had been. “I need to tell you something, Master,” he decides eventually.
Obi-Wan looks at him quickly, wondering what else Dooku has done. “What is it? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he says, then grins a little, almost shy. “You know that drug that Dooku’s been giving us, the one that inhibits use of the Force?”
“Are you saying it doesn’t work on you?” Obi-Wan demands. Anakin’s midichlorian count is so high that she supposes it’s just possible.
“No, it definitely works,” Anakin says quickly. “It just doesn’t work…all the way. I can still feel the Force, but not enough to do anything. I can sense you, and Dooku, and I could probably take apart the ship’s engine if I could get at it, but that’s about it. I can’t manipulate it.”
“That could be useful,” Obi-Wan says. “I’m afraid I have no connection with the Force at all at the moment. It’s quite disconcerting.”
Anakin winces, probably not even aware he’s doing it. “We’ll fix it, Master. It can’t be permanent. Dooku’s obsessed with you; he’d never do anything to screw up his favorite Jedi permanently.”
“What an awful thought,” Obi-Wan says distastefully. “I do hope he’s prepared to be disappointed.”
“I hope so. You’d make a really scary Sith.”
Both of them stand up as the door slides open again, revealing the same droid that had brought her the clothes earlier. “Count Dooku will see you now,” it announces. “Please follow me.”
“Well, it’s not like we have any other plans,” Anakin says, falling into step beside Obi-Wan as they follow the droid out into the hall.
This isn’t the first time that Obi-Wan has been on a ship run mostly or entirely by droids, but it’s as discomfiting as ever, even without the Force to whisper in her ear that something is wrong, something is very wrong, they shouldn’t be this far out in deep space without another living being somewhere around them. She rubs her hand over the back of her neck, wondering if it bothers Anakin as much as it does her. It’s entirely possible that he doesn’t even notice; sometimes she thinks that he likes droids more than he likes people. Not that Obi-Wan can always blame him.
“You know, I gave Dooku my parole,” Anakin mutters suddenly to her. “It was the only way he’d let me see you. Should I not have done that?”
“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan murmurs back. “Dooku used to be a Jedi. He won’t expect you to keep your word.”
For all the much-vaunted honor of the Jedi, there’s only one code they keep to, and it has nothing in it about telling the truth or keeping one’s word. Obi-Wan doesn’t like to go that far if she can help it, but if there’s one thing that Obi-Wan has learned in this war, it’s that there’s no such thing as honor. There is only what needs to be done for the Order and the Republic. She hopes that Anakin has grown to learn this as well.
The droid shows them into what Obi-Wan guesses is normally Dooku’s office, though now his desk is tucked against the window – currently deep in hyperspace, she observes – and a square table has been placed in the center of the room, with Dooku waiting at one end and places set for three. He seems pleased to see them.
“Colors flatter you, Master Kenobi. I would give you more compliments if I thought you would appreciate them, but I have no doubt that Qui-Gon Jinn taught you better. He was, like you are, a true Jedi.”
“You’re not fit to speak his name,” Obi-Wan says, with a faint pang. “I’m glad he didn’t live to see what became of his former master – that you would join with the very people who murdered him.”
“Come, come, Master Kenobi. I’ve seen the security holos; Qui-Gon died fighting and he died well. It is a pity; I would very much like him to be here today.”
“I don’t have to listen to this filth,” Obi-Wan says, the old anger threatening to boil up inside her. It’s not at all fitting for a Jedi Knight, and she does her best to shove it down. “If all you’re going to do is slander Qui-Gon’s name, then I believe I’d prefer to be returned to my cell.”
Anakin mutters a grumpy affirmative, glaring at Dooku.
The Sith Lord’s smile turns chilly. “Let’s make a bargain, you and I, Master Kenobi. If you try to escape –”
“You’ll have me killed?” Obi-Wan says archly, raising one eyebrow. “I do not fear death, Count.”
“You’re far too valuable to kill,” Dooku says. “No. If you try to escape, I’ll kill your Padawan. And if you try anything, young Skywalker –”
“You won’t kill Obi-Wan,” Anakin challenges. “You just said that.”
“Indeed. If you try anything, what happens to Master Kenobi will not be pleasant for either of you. I recommend that you don’t attempt to find out.”
Anakin bites the inside of his cheek, glaring silently at Dooku as he takes a step closer to Obi-Wan. She gives him her most reassuring look, wishing she could encourage him with the Force. “Qui-Gon would be so pleased, I’m sure,” she tells Dooku instead.
“Don’t be impertinent, Master Kenobi, it doesn’t suit you,” he says, sounding bored. “Do we have a bargain?”
“Very well,” Obi-Wan says reluctantly. “Anakin?”
He jerks his head in something that’s probably meant to be a nod, glaring bloody murder.
They sit at Dooku’s invitation, Obi-Wan ignoring the way the back of her neck prickles when she’s near him and concentrating on the food instead, which is brought out by a protocol droid and is, indeed, quite good. Anakin stabs at it with his fork like he’s intent on doing it serious physical damage. Under other circumstances Obi-Wan might correct him, but she can’t bring herself to do so, not with Dooku staring down at them. Obi-Wan is a Jedi; separating body from mind is her specialty. She cleans her plate, her body desperate for solid nourishment after almost two days in a bacta tank.
“What do you want with us, Count Dooku?” she says over her second glass of wine. “You’ve already said that you don’t plan on ransoming us back to the Republic. So far you’ve given me medical treatment, blocked our use of the Force, tortured my Padawan, allowed him to contact the Council but forbidden them from informing the Supreme Chancellor, and threatened to kill or torture us. I must admit that I’m a bit confused.”
“With Skywalker? Nothing. His only significance is to you, not me.”
Anakin glowers silently at him.
“What do you want with me, then?” Obi-Wan rephrases, wishing she had the Force to guide her questions. “Your droids have made a fairly good try at killing me over the past year and a half; do you really expect me to believe that you’ve had a sudden and sincere change of heart?”
“Call it a change of perspective, if you prefer,” Dooku says, tilting his head to look at her. His gaze is direct and piercing, with the power of the Force behind it; Obi-Wan realizes suddenly why non-Force sensitive beings are told never to look a Jedi in the eye. Every instinct she has is screaming at her to meet his gaze, to hold it, but without the Force behind her it would be a very bad idea. She holds it as long as she can, then lets her own gaze flicker slightly away from his, breaking the connection.
“You once taught a course at the Jedi Temple on the history of the Sith,” Dooku observes.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan allows cautiously.
“What a thrill it must have been for all those young Padawans to stand in the same room as the only Jedi in a millennium to kill a Sith Lord. Surely you, of all people, know what has always been true of the Sith.”
Anakin answers before Obi-Wan can. “Two,” he says. “There are always two, a master and an apprentice. It’s a perversion of the Jedi,” he adds, his scowl deepening.
“The Council investigates your claims of a second Sith Lord hiding in the Senate,” Obi-Wan says. “There is no evidence of this. You were wasting our time, Count. We are Jedi, not fools.”
“I find your lack of faith disturbing, Master Kenobi,” Dooku says mildly. “There is a second Sith, as it happens. As there always is.”
“Your apprentice?” Obi-Wan questions. “Someone you tricked into replacing the one who murdered Qui-Gon on Naboo – the one I killed?”
“My master,” Dooku replies. “The one who intends to replace me with a new apprentice, someone more…pliable.” His gaze drifts across the table to Anakin. “Someone young, someone whom he can easily control. My master knows the ways of the Sith well, but this blinds him to their flaws.”
“Apparently it blinds him to more than that!” Anakin snaps. “The Sith are evil. Look at this war – look in a mirror,” he sneers.
“Control your padawan, Master Kenobi, or I will,” Dooku tells Obi-Wan, raising an eyebrow.
She clenches her fist beneath the table, not liking be told how to train her own padawan even by the Jedi Council, let alone by a Sith traitor, but fear of what Dooku might do if Anakin can’t hold his tongue wins out over pride. “Anakin,” she says softly, nudging his ankle with her toe.
He sets his jaw. “I’m not afraid of you,” he tells Dooku.
“Just remember,” Dooku says, “it’s not yourself whom you should fear for.”
Anakin glances at Obi-Wan, his face creasing into worry. She closes her eyes briefly – he shouldn’t be worried about her, that’s for her to do for him – and looks back at Dooku. “Your point, Count.”
“My master has been very beneficial to me in the past. To the war, though his efforts have been…divided, to say the least. His usefulness has passed.”
“So you want the Jedi Council to remove him so that you may have a free hand,” Obi-Wan interprets.
“The Jedi want the second Sith gone,” Dooku says, “and so do I. We have something in common, Master Kenobi.”
“And in return?”
“The Senate treats with the Confederacy. Peacefully, no tricks.”
“I know a senator or two who might be persuaded,” Obi-Wan allows reluctantly. “But you understand that the Council will never allow a Sith Lord to control a significant portion of the galaxy. It is against everything the Jedi stand for.”
“Leave that to me.”
This is too easy. “Tell me the name and allow me to contact the Council,” Obi-Wan says. “I fear that I do not have the authority to speak for something this important on my own.”
“Master Kenobi,” Count Dooku says, “there is one more thing I want in return. You know what it is.”
Obi-Wan’s entire body stiffens. “No,” she says. “I will never join you, Dooku. I am a Jedi. My loyalty is to the Order and the Republic and I can be neither bought not bargained for.”
“Can’t you?” Dooku says. He flicks his fingers at the door behind them, which slides open obediently. Two battle droids enter.
Anakin and Obi-Wan both rise in one smooth movement, mirrors of each other. “Dooku,” Anakin spits, like the name itself is a curse.
“Take Master Skywalker back to the med room,” he orders. “And give him his medicine.”
“Roger roger,” the lead droid says, reaching for Anakin’s arm. He shrugs it aside, glaring bloody murder at Dooku.
“I won’t leave Master Obi-Wan,” he snaps. “Whatever you’re going to say to her, you’ll say it in front of me.”
“No, I won’t,” Dooku says. “He is quite loyal, isn’t he?” he adds to Obi-Wan. “Remind him that if he refuses to cooperate, the results will not be pleasant for either of you.”
Anakin glances at Obi-Wan. “I’ll go,” he says quickly. “But if you hurt her, I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you.”
Dooku doesn’t respond to the bait, just nods at the droids, who herd Anakin out of the room. He glances back at Obi-Wan, his expression anxious before the door closes between them. She clenches her hands on the edge of the table, her heart pounding in her throat.
“He isn’t a very good Jedi, is he,” Dooku observes.
“He’s young,” Obi-Wan says smoothly, straightening up and clasping her hands behind her back. “He still has much to learn.”
“But do you have anything more to teach him?” He stands up, looking at her steadily with the Force behind his dark gaze as he moves around the edge of the table. “You aren’t a very good Jedi either, Obi-Wan Kenobi. It isn’t your fault, of course. You were too young to become a Knight, too inexperienced to go from being a Padawan to having one yourself.”
“I was old enough. There have been many Jedi who were made Knights much younger than I,” Obi-Wan says. “Anakin has only been in the Order for eleven years. He has time – if this war gives it to him.”
“Qui-Gon failed you, Master Kenobi. The Jedi Order has failed you. You and your Padawan feel too much – too deeply. The Jedi have made you believe that this is a weakness, but they are wrong. It is a strength! Think of what you could be without them –”
“I am a Jedi Knight,” Obi-Wan says flatly. “All that I desire is the continued safety and wellbeing of the Republic – which you, by the way, threaten. I have no use for a man who turns his back on the principles that he swore to uphold – or for a man who doesn’t have any.”
“And when this war is over, the Jedi Order will have no use for a Master and a Padawan who violate one of their central tenets,” Dooku says. “But I will.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Obi-Wan says, but a slight shiver of foreboding runs down her spine.
Dooku steps close to her, running his hand down her arm. Obi-Wan is a Jedi; she keeps herself from shuddering or flinching away, but she can’t hide the tension in her body. “I’ve been watching you and Skywalker on the HoloNet for months now,” says Dooku. “If the Jedi haven’t seen it by now, then they’re even more foolish than I believed. When this war ends, you and he will both be drummed out of the Order.”
“Your eyes have betrayed you, Count,” Obi-Wan says, turning her head to watch him. “Neither Anakin nor I have ever betrayed the Code.”
“Not in body,” Dooku says. “Not yet. But you will never be the Jedi that you wish to be: you will give in to your emotions.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Obi-Wan repeats.
“Your Padawan is in love with you,” Dooku says and smiles, a self-satisfied little smirk that makes Obi-Wan’s blood run cold, “and you return it.”
*
tbc
read chapter 3.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-23 03:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-23 03:51 am (UTC)The nightmare is...less obvious than I actually thought it was; it's her memory of Qui-Gon's death in the third paragraph. (For some reason I thought it was an actual nightmare. Uh, whoops.)
(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-27 09:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-27 09:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-28 01:18 am (UTC)