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Obi-Wan had to remind himself that he had already let Qui-Gon go.
Of all the things his master had been careful to teach him, it had never occurred to him, of course, to show him how to let him go. Not something one should think of as a master, he thought, running his hands over his face, tired but unable to sleep. Or at least, it wasn't something he thought of as a Padawan. To him, Qui-Gon was as immovable as the Force itself, and on all those occasions when he nearly lost him, Obi-Wan always harbored within himself the childlike belief that he would never die.
Because he had to remind himself that only the temple's younglings and the children held by their mother's hand believed in such unbelievable things, without any foundation, closer to magic than to reality. That swallowing a pea would grow a tree from your stomach, that parents never died, that people were good at heart and that love was enough to save a person. But Obi-Wan was no longer a child, a youngling, or even a Padawan. He sat on the edge of the bed and turned to look at the bed next to him, where Anakin Skywalker slept. He was now a Jedi master.
Theed's castle was shrouded in the crackling darkness of Naboo.
Though the lights were off in his room, the lush glow of the city spilled everywhere: from the warm fire torches, the amber hstreetlights, and the plasma generators that flung blue and green sparks beneath Theed's many waterfalls. It was beautiful, full of life, natural fragrances, and sounds. The living Force was basking in its vitality. It was a pity that all that beauty was tainted with the miasma of Obi-Wan's duel.
Perhaps someday, he could return with another heart that did not miss his master so violently.
He fixed his gaze on the small lump under the sheets of the other bed, and the fear that had plagued him all day hit him with a fist in the stomach.
Now, he was responsible for someone else. And not an ordinary boy, like the one he had been all those years ago. But a boy touched by fate, larger than life itself, with a vast, nebulous future in front of him. He couldn't even imagine what he could be at that moment: among people he didn't know, alone and small, dealing with the recent loss of the only man who had ever believed in him.
His heart filled with guilt for spurning him, Obi-Wan stood up, intending to do something, anything; put his hand on his head, whisper to him that everything was going to be all right, or just see him, and hope that Anakin could understand his intention through his dreams, for Obi-Wan was still afraid to utter the words.
However, when he approached his now padawan's bed, he discovered that no one was there and that the lump he had seen all this time was a pillow.
"Anakin?" he asked into the night, feeling like a fool, struggling to suppress the sudden emptiness in his stomach. "Anakin? Are you in the bathroom?"
But Anakin was neither in the bathroom, hiding under the bed, nor in the closet. So Obi-Wan left the room without putting on his boots and ran into the castle, wondering where the kitchen was and if, perhaps, what the boy needed was a midnight snack because, by the Force, he was so thin, so burned by the sun of Tatooine, so wounded by his life as a slave. He swallowed hard, peeking through the enormous doors of the rooms in the castle's north wing, hoping to find a small golden head and lively blue eyes. I'm fine, Obi-Wan! I just wanted to know what was in here.
He had to stop in front of the large windows overlooking the royal gardens, which he almost ignored in his desperation to find the boy. But he saw him there, leaning on the railing of the balcony, with his head down and his eyes to the sky, as if looking for something among the few stars that could be seen in the sky of Theed.
Obi-Wan walked out to where he was and noticed how cold and damp it was. Both he and Anakin were wearing only the inner robes of the clothing given to them by Queen Amidala's handmaids. At least the boy was no longer wearing the tattered and dirty clothes he had brought from Tatooine. Like him, Anakin was barefoot. Also, to Obi-Wan's surprise, he had hidden his signature in the Force. He was not as good as a Padawan with a couple of years of training, but well enough that he could have ignored his lack.
"Anakin."
The boy gasped and stood up. Obi-Wan saw him bring his hand to his eyes to wipe away the tears he was shedding, so he stopped, pretending the giant vase next to him was very interesting.
"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I was—I was watching the lake. I couldn't sleep," the boy explained to her, his voice mushy with emotion and his eyes red, still full of tears. "I didn't want to disturb you back in the room."
Obi-Wan shook his head, rushed by Anakin's words. "No, you wouldn't." He didn't want him to think he couldn't feel things next to him, and he didn't want to start their relationship with him this way. "You could have woken me up, Anakin. I was scared for a moment when I didn't see you."
"Sorry," the boy mumbled, lowering his gaze. "The masters were right. I am afraid. I'm afraid I'm not what everyone expects of me, and besides..."
He approached him as he saw his breathing begin to hitch. He knelt in front of him and put a hand on his thin arm. "Hey, Anakin. Take it easy. It's okay. If you want to cry, go ahead. I'm not going to stop you."
Anakin fought back his tears a second longer, but then two large pearly drops fell down the curve of his cheeks, leaving behind a glistening trail of sadness and regret. Obi-Wan couldn't help but think that those tears were his own, as if they had moved from his heart to Anakin's, but the boy would have been the only one brave enough to shed them.
"I don't want to cry," Anakin acknowledged, lifting his face decisively. "I want to be a Jedi."
Obi-Wan smiled at him. Without thinking, he reached up and wiped away one of his tears with his thumb. "I will teach you to give this feeling to the Force. A Jedi feels all this. I feel it too—sadness, loneliness, confusion, but we don't let it control us or cloud our decisions."
Anakin nodded, still unsure, but Obi-Wan knew there would be time to show him it was true. Now, in front of him, was a frightened child, and he had been one too. At his age, he would have liked someone to comfort him, silly as it was, because you still believed in the magic of words spoken aloud at that age.
"You know, where I'm from, in Stewjon, they have an old legend," he began to tell the boy, wiping the rest of the tears from his face. "That it says every tear collected is a wish you can make to the stars."
Anakin frowned and let out a half-laugh, still choppy from his feeling. "That sounds silly."
"It isn't. A tear twinkles just like a star. Have you noticed? They both sparkle, and they're both made of more stuff than cosmic dust and water. So every time you cry, take one of them and make a wish," Obi-Wan continued, rolling his fingers in the glowing liquid from Anakin's jade-colored eyes.
The boy pouted, thinking of his wish. "I wish... I wish Mr. Qui-Gon had never died," he said, his voice small, like that of a broken-hearted child and not the Force Chosen One, filled with his life-giving power. "But I know it's impossible. So I wish you not to feel sad either, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan breathed hard through his nose, the hole inside his heart filling with a new and powerful feeling. "Thank you, Anakin."
The two turned toward the lake, which reflected the ghosts of the stars, the moon, and the yellow lights illuminating the city, and stood side by side for a moment, almost feeling the power of Anakin's wish coming true in the night air, in the sound of the crickets, in the electricity in the space between their arms.
✧₊⁺
With no frame of reference other than his own experience, Obi-Wan thinks he was never like that when he was young. Of course, there was the Melida/Daan thing and the occasional stumble, but he had always been a good Padawan, always attentive to his master's instructions. So, during his early years as Anakin's master, he had operated under this assumption: that he would be the master he never had in Qui-Gon.
But, obviously, he had not factored into the equation that Anakin was anything but like him. Or maybe the other way around: Anakin was too much like he was when he was his age, which terrified him.
He was a good kid—too smart and too powerful a Padawan, and Anakin knew it. He knew that among his classmates, he had no competition. But at the same time, Anakin refused to have close friends. He was quick to anger and too impulsive when he let one of his intense emotions control him: several times, he had had to apologize to the teachers of several Padawans when Anakin had decided to settle their differences with his fists.
Master Yaddle and Mace Windu had stopped him a couple of times in the halls of the temple, asking him if he didn't need help with his padawan, saying that they had heard "rumors" that this wasn't the first time he had disappeared from their sight and found him looking for droid parts in the sector's dumpsters. He, somewhere between chagrined and exasperated, would tell them they didn't have to worry about him or his apprentice.
"He's the best apprentice I could have asked for... but he's kind of hard to understand."
It was something he couldn't explain to anyone else.
How good Anakin was when it was just the two of them. The problem lay precisely when he had to face the scrutiny of the other masters and apprentices. Only he, Obi-Wan, understood Anakin's complex and extraordinary heart, and only Anakin had patience and affection for his master.
They had something precious between them, and Obi-Wan guarded it with zeal, much to his regret. He did not want anyone else to interfere in the moments he shared with Anakin, nor did he want anyone else to judge him for the decisions he had made in this regard; not even Qui-Gon, whom he sometimes asked, meditatively, in silence, for an ounce of his fortitude.
Besides, and this he knew all too well, he wasn't sure what the Jedi Council would say if they found out that Anakin was still sleeping in the same bed as he was two years after his arrival to the Order.
"Did you brush your teeth?" asked Obi-Wan, catching a glimpse of himself in his bathroom mirror, searching his chin for wayward hairs that had escaped his razor.
"Yes," Anakin exclaimed behind him, swinging his feet up on the edge of his bed.
"Did you wash your face, too?".
"I did."
"Did you throw your dirty clothes in the hopper?".
"Yes, master! I did everything."
Obi-Wan turned around, hands on his hips, as if studying his padawan, searching his smile for a trace of a lie. Anakin was rubbing his feet, eager for his master's approval. "Well, then, what are you doing out of the covers? Come on, it's too late now."
Anakin hopped toward the center of his bed and pushed the covers aside, sinking into them like a kitten, ready to make muffins with his paws. Obi-Wan was sometimes surprised that his padawan didn't purr from contentment when they lay together. "I was waiting for you. You took a lot longer in the bath this time."
He touched his cheek, feeling his rough, sensitive skin. "I've been thinking I should grow a beard. I spend too much time shaving every three days."
"No!" exclaimed Anakin, as if offended by the suggestion. Obi-Wan also stepped into the covers, pushing him sideways with his hip so he could get comfortable.
"What, why not?"
Anakin pursed his mouth, half amused, half defensive. "I don't know. I like the way you look like this. I like..."
"You what?" asked Obi-Wan, turning his face to look for his padawan. He only caught a glimpse of his nose and the tips of his reddened ears.
"Nothing," the boy exclaimed, pulling a hand out of the covers to turn off the light through the Force. "Good night!"
"Anakin... I've told you not to use the Force for such banal things."
His padawan pretended to yawn. "Oh, I'm so sleepy. I'm so so sleepy."
"Very funny."
But maybe Anakin was really sleepy because almost immediately, he fell asleep, his face pressed against his shoulder, his hands under his chin, a golden ball of sighs and shakes. His little sleeping star, there, beside him. Obi-Wan had to fight his urge to hug and press him to his chest.
He was slow to fall asleep. That's how he was lately. His head was full of too many things: reports, missions, Anakin's class schedule, training, his monthly appointment at the infirmary to refill his pills, meeting with the Padawans' masters who would be going to Ilum that year, taking Anakin to Dex's, because his birthday was in a couple of days. He had to meditate for a long time to empty all his worries, surrender his anxiety to the Force, and ask it for calm and serenity. To ask back the temperance and purpose he had shown Master Yoda when he had asked him to become Anakin's master, to train him. Sometimes, it was hard, so hard, that he honestly considered Mace Windu's request and handed the responsibility of his education to someone else...
A small cry brought him back to reality.
Obi-Wan opened his eyes and blinked, trying to get used to the darkness of his room. The crying was coming from his side. The one crying was Anakin.
"Padawan?"
But Anakin was crying in his sleep. Whatever he was dreaming was something so sad or so hopeless that his whole body was shaking. Obi-Wan tried to move him, hoping he would wake up, but Anakin whimpered and let out a whimper of genuine pain, which startled him, thinking for a moment that he had hurt him.
"Anakin, baby. You're dreaming," he whispered, rising to settle him on his back. His padawan's face was filled with utter sadness. "Anakin."
"Mom, wait," he murmured, tears spilling between his long eyelashes. "Mom."
"Oh, Anakin."
He stood like that for a moment, watching his apprentice mourn the loss of his mother. Obi-Wan knew that everything Anakin was and did directly influenced the love he had for his mother and, at the same time, the love she had for him. Because of that same love, the council had considered Anakin an undesirable candidate for training: he was transformed by it, permanently touched by the bond with his mother. But that love was why Anakin was such an incredible boy: his heart was enormous, and his capacity for love and forgiveness was overwhelming. It was a gift, one that many could not understand.
When the tears stopped flowing, Obi-Wan ran a knuckle across his cheeks, wiping them away. The boy sighed and, feeling the caress of his hands, threw himself on top of him, sinking his face into his chest and making him hiss with surprise.
Anakin hugged him tightly and sucked on his chest, like a puppy seeking comfort from his mother and Obi-Wan, who had spent all that time convincing himself that he didn't want to do just that, hugging the boy, stroking his head, whispering words of calm, allowed that forbidden show of affection between the two, surrounding his padawan with a tight embrace.
On his fingers, he still felt the coldness of his tears, but Obi-Wan did nothing to wipe them away but let them dry on their own on his skin while he thought (or wished) that Anakin would wake up the next day without regret in his heart, that he would forget the pain of the separation with his mother and that, like him, he would feel the wonder of seeing his emptiness replaced with a surprising and new love. He thought (and no, he didn't want to wish it because wishing it approached attachment) that he would like to go in there, into that space Shmi had left in Anakin's heart, and inhabit it so that he would never mourn his loss again.
✧₊⁺
"I won't hear any more about it, my young padawan. You are going to apologize to him and end the discussion."
Anakin clenched his fists, and the entire room shook with the power of his fury; Obi-Wan was not surprised. Perhaps a scoundrel cornered in a dark alley, but as Anakin Skywalker's master of four years, he had grown accustomed to his threats.
"But it wasn't my fault! Ferus, he—".
"But nothing. I told you. You apologize to him, and that's the last thing I want to hear."
He let Anakin crackle with rage in his place while Ferus looked at him calmly and curiously, as if he did not understand why he was angry but was sympathetic enough to realize that it was not his fault and that he should wait until he had learned his lesson. Obi-Wan sighed. Ferus was a normal boy, like the rest of Anakin's classmates. He had been educated among them from the age of three, obedient, and understanding. Obi-Wan's life would have been easier if he had chosen someone like Ferus instead of Anakin.
But this was his life, and he actively chose it every day, whether he wanted to or not.
"I'm sorry," Anakin apologized between his teeth, as if every word burned his tongue. "I didn't mean to hit you in the stomach with the saber. It will be the last time it happens."
Ferus nodded, immediately relieved. "Thank you for apologizing, Anakin. I appreciate it."
His padawan turned to see him with a darkened scowl, a predatory look about to pounce on the softest, most available neck he could find. Obi-Wan wanted to place a hand on his golden hair, half-entertained by his attitude. He suspected these were the consequences of being Anakin's master: there came a point where terror at his fury and lack of control turned to fond affection. Maybe that was a problem, too, but one he would have to deal with later.
"See, that wasn't as hard as you thought," he said to Anakin as the boy sat on the wooden bench, absolutely defeated. "Well, I'm running late. Don't forget your astrophysics homework is due tomorrow."
Anakin turned to look at him with a pout. "Do you really have to leave me for this mission?"
"It's not a mission. It's a protocol visit to Hosnian Prime, meetings, and handshakes. You wouldn't like that."
"I'd like it better than seeing Ferus Olin's dumb face."
"Anakin, I'm serious." To show him how serious he was, he pulled his hand from the sleeve of his robe and placed it on his cheek in a gesture they only made in the secrecy of Obi-Wan's quarters. "Be a good boy, please."
His apprentice leaned into his hand and closed his eyes. "I will be, I promise."
Of course, Obi-Wan didn't like going to a diplomatic summit without him, but the orders had been clear. Only he had been invited, and Master Yoda had told him it would be good for Anakin to spend a few days alone and learn to deal with what he had taught him. But the problem was not whether he had learned or not; the problem was the feeling that came over him when they were gone. It was something strange, like a fear that wouldn't go away, as if he and Anakin were bound together by a bond that tugged at him under his ribs and threatened to tear a hole in him if he strayed too far.
But that was the way things were. Obi-Wan had to obey the council, and Anakin had to obey him. The Force would have to take care of the rest.
The journey and summit proved positively tedious and uneventful. He ate and drank with the Hosnian Prime authorities, feigned smiles, and tired his hand and back from waving and bowing to politicians who took no interest in him and vice versa. A couple of times, he amused himself by imagining his padawan in that situation. Sitting, perhaps, with his legs spread and his eyes rolled back, searching the room for a way to distract himself, for the nearest escape.
Obi-Wan smiled to himself. See, Anakin? I told you you wouldn't like coming here. Even I'm bored.
Besides, it was something they had to do more often. Obi-Wan loved spending time with him more than anything in the world, but it wasn't healthy. He had to teach him that distance was good and that they didn't have to know everything about each other. He had to teach him that at some point, Anakin would become a Jedi knight, master of his own padawan, and would have to go his separate way.
He held a hand to his chest, surprised by the feeling that thought generated in him—the thought of Anakin becoming master, going on missions without him. An usher put a hand on his shoulder, asking if he was all right, and Obi-Wan, ashamed of himself, had to make an effort to forget about his apprentice and turn his attention back to the meeting, thinking that perhaps this separation was a lesson for him as well.
A week later, Obi-Wan returned to Coruscant feeling lighter and strangely clear-headed, as if having been off-planet had lifted a veil from his eyes, one he hadn't even noticed he had.
Stepping off the ship, he expected to meet the golden face of his apprentice, but instead, he saw the pale face and fiery hair of Darra Thel-Tanis. Of course, Obi-Wan greeted him with all the politeness in the world after the girl welcomed him back to the temple and asked if he wanted to go to the dining hall for refreshments.
"Darra, thank you so much for everything, but... where's my padawan?" he asked, alarmed.
The girl lowered her eyes and clasped her hands, distressed. "Oh, Master Kenobi. Soara told me to wait until you were seated to tell you, but Anakin had an accident and is in the infirmary and—".
Obi-Wan didn't let the padawan finish speaking because he bolted back inside the temple and into the infirmary wing, which he knew all too well. Behind him, Darra ran, telling him to wait for her. Anakin was fine, but the hole he had managed to close during his time on Hosnian Prime had reopened, threatening to choke him with his own blood and anguish.
Outside the infirmary stood Master Vokara and Soara Antana, Darra's teacher, both women looking solemn. When Soara saw Obi-Wan's condition, he turned to look at him padawan in exasperation.
"I told you to tell him tactfully."
The girl bowed to her, absolutely remorseful. "Forgive me, master."
"What happened? Where's Anakin? Is he all right? I need to see him," Obi-Wan exclaimed breathlessly as the teachers raised his hands in a sign of calm.
"Take it easy, Kenobi. Your padawan is fine. He fell off his speeder, and the padawans brought him in. He got a couple of scratches but nothing more. His bone healed perfectly," Vokara explained with a gesture of apprehension.
Obi-Wan tried to focus on the Force. There wasn't much else to do. The masters had already seen him lose his composure. He stretched his perception out into the hallway of the patient rooms and felt the warm signature of his padawan vibrate, aware that his master had arrived.
"Thank you, master. Now, if you excuse me..." he said, pushing past them to fetch his apprentice, ignoring the healer's refusal and Soara's disapproving look.
He sensed him on the other side of the first room, and when he walked in, he found the padawan lying on the bed, with a bandage around his head, a bacta patch on his chin, and wearing a green hospital gown. He had a black eye and scratches on his hands, but when he saw Obi-Wan in the doorway, he opened his eyes and stretched out his arms, relieved to see him at last.
"Master!"
"Anakin, by the Force, what happened to you?" he whispered, gently taking the boy's hands between his own as if not to hurt him. I told you to be good while I was gone."
"It wasn't my fault! A thief tried to steal Tru's lightsaber, and I went after him... it was a miscalculation, and I fell a couple of levels, but I'm fine, I promise," the boy told him, sinking into his chest, wrapping his arms around him, his voice muffled within the layers of his robes. "That's what you get for leaving me behind."
So Obi-Wan tried to make up for lost time by staying the rest of the day with Anakin in the infirmary room. They ate together, and he helped him to the bathroom and talked about unimportant things. In the evening, when he saw him yawning, Obi-Wan got up to retire.
"Wait, don't go, Master...I," Anakin began to say when he saw him put on his cloak. "Please stay and sleep with me."
Obi-Wan sighed. "Anakin. I must let you rest. Besides, the bed is too small."
"Of course, it isn't. Please," the boy said as he watched him make his way to the side of the bed, leaving him a space to lie down beside him. "Just for today."
He didn't need to be pushed any further because, in fact, Obi-Wan didn't want to be talked into it. He had been looking for an excuse to get him discharged so he could take him back to his room; seeing him in his robe and injured was enough to make his heart break all over again. It was the least he could do for his padawan. After all, he was right. None of that would have happened if he had taken him to Hosnian Prime. So he locked the door, took off his boots, and as he had done for four years, lay down on the same bed as his padawan, in a learned motion, within an emotion that was more familiar than the Force itself. Anakin's warmth, his sigil encircling his ankles, the back of his neck, like an embrace.
Anakin snuggled into him, entangling his legs with his, pressing his forehead against his shoulder, and letting out a long sigh of bliss. Obi-Wan let him, happy to be with him.
After a couple of minutes in that position, Anakin spoke.
"Master..."
"Mmm. What is it?".
"May I ask you for something?"
Obi-Wan reached up and placed his hand over the birth of his Padawan braid, tangling his finger in the thin strand of his hair. "What do you want? A glass of water?"
The boy shook his head. Then he lifted his face and faced him. His eyes looked like two star-filled skies, perhaps clouded by the purple bruise that decorated his face. He was flushed as if he had a fever.
"Can you give me a kiss? Please. Just one. A small one. The smallest," he said quickly, as if afraid Obi-Wan would refuse and leave him there.
He felt his heart skip a beat. He could pretend to have misunderstood the question, kiss him on the forehead, and settle the matter there, but that was not what Anakin meant. Anakin wanted a kiss on the lips. "Padawan, that's not right..."
"No one will know. Just one, please. And I promise I'm going to feel better."
And maybe because he had traveled for ten hours from Hosnian to Coruscant, and he was tired and brain-fluffed with unimportant information, and maybe because Anakin looked truly desperate, with his black eye and pink lips, and maybe because Obi-Wan didn't want to feel that way again: like he had let his apprentice down, leaving him behind, forgetting him, believing he was better off without him. Maybe because he remembered the promise he had made to himself many nights ago about pursuing his happiness above all things.
Perhaps, simply because he wanted to, more than anything else in the world.
So he leaned over Anakin's face, let the boy take it in his warm hands, and kissed him—a chaste kiss, lips on lips, like a butterfly landing on the petals of a flower. He felt Anakin close his mouth and lightly press his lips between hers. But he did nothing more. He kept his promise.
He kissed him, and then, as if unable to navigate reality without being over his master's lips, he sank back on his chest, radiating happiness so powerful that Obi-Wan thought, for a moment, that the sun was pouring through the window.
✧₊⁺
He and Siri stood inside the cockpit, but the sudden nausea made him stagger back to his place.
"Hey! Watch it, Kenobi. By heaven, you look positively awful."
He was feeling positively awful. And he'd been trying to stop the assault of disgust the entire trip back from the mission on Radnor. Maybe because they had seen so many people suffer, maybe because, for a moment, he had thought he had lost Anakin. They managed to rescue the entire Aubendo community and prevented the invasion of the planet, which was the important thing.
"I'm fine. Motion sickness," he assured Siri, who was looking at him with genuine concern. Behind him, Master Ry-Gaul grabbed him by the shoulder.
"You need to go to the infirmary, buddy. You radiate discomfort. Heavy, like you're carrying two people on top of you."
"I'm fine, really. I thank you for your concern."
But Siri didn't let him go so easily. Once Ry-Gaul and Soara exited the ship's interior, her old friend stopped him, pinning him to the cockpit wall.
"Hey. Don't lie to me, Obi-Wan. You've been sick for almost a week—ever since we were assigned the mission, even before. Knowing you, you've been sick for the whole month, and you haven't said anything," Siri said menacingly. After almost 20 years of knowing each other, she hadn't gotten out of her habit of terrorizing him. She really was so much like Anakin.
Defeated, he nodded. "But it's no big deal. You know how it is... every month a struggle."
"That's why I'm worried. Throwing up and shaking with pain from your period is not normal. It could be something serious, Obi-Wan. Master Taria was diagnosed with cancer last week and—"
Obi-Wan pushed Siri back, despairing at her alarm. Besides, they'd already taken too long in the cockpit, and she had to go back for Anakin and ask him if he was feeling all right and if he was hungry. "Don't overreact, please. But I will go to the infirmary. That I can assure you."
"Fine. You're not a Padawan anymore, Obi-Wan," Siri replied quietly. "We're both in charge of a life now, and for that reason alone, you must take care of your health."
It was a grim warning but a true one. When the two left the cockpit, Anakin was already waiting for them on the exit ramp, arms crossed and scowling. Next to him, Ferus stood impassive, waiting for his own master. The accusatory look from his padawan made him understand what he suspected.
Unbelievable, Obi-Wan thought, pushing his jealous apprentice back to the temple. Everywhere I go, someone accuses me of some falsehood.
Still, he heeded Siri's recommendation.
Siri was one of the few people who knew the truth about his anatomy. To most, Obi-Wan Kenobi was nothing more than an ordinary man, a Jedi Master who obeyed the rules of his Order. But the healers in the infirmary, Siri, Bant, and he knew that Obi-Wan was no ordinary man. His home planet dictated the shape of his biology, for Stewjon men, unlike Alderaan men, for example, had the anatomy to procreate and carry a child within their bodies. And his body was a perfect example of this: although he looked like an average human, the difference between his legs was crucial. And like a human woman, Obi-Wan menstruated.
This meant that if he wanted to, he could get pregnant. This meant that if his life was not one of being a Jedi devoted to the will of the Force, he would be the mother of his children.
The condition of his biology had always been a point of contention between him and his master, Qui-Gon, who had found that the pains of his early periods hindered his teachings. So Obi-Wan had made the radical decision to take medication that would stop his period completely, leaving him virtually infertile.
Perhaps if he had started treatment after puberty, Obi-Wan would have acquired the body of a mature stewjon, but after nearly twenty years on hormones, his body was practically that of a young man: no breasts, not much hair, no hips. A man with a pussy, as Siri had once told him, teasing him.
When he arrived at the infirmary, Obi-Wan sat waiting for the medical droid to do the protocol scan and tried to recall when his symptoms had started: he hadn't eaten anything out of the ordinary, hadn't hurt himself, hadn't suffered a blow that would justify his symptoms.
He remembered, however, the kiss he had given Anakin two months ago and felt the flip in his stomach that always accompanied him when he did it. After kissing him, he had spent whole days with guilt gnawing at his gut, while his padawan had spent entire days glowing as if floating on a cloud of happiness filled with sunbeams and flower petals. Of course, Anakin, as young, impulsive, and emotional as he was, had no concept of the danger of what they had done. He, grown, serene, and detached, was supposed to teach him that desire for a kiss, however innocent, was not right for a Jedi. A kiss, of course, could mean anything. But a kiss given by someone like Anakin Skywalker could mean everything.
He put a hand to his belly, just below his obi, and swallowed. He didn't have a good feeling about that.
The medical droid arrived, syringe in the air, ready to draw a blood sample. It asked Obi-Wan about his symptoms, while he took his temperature and oxygenation level with another arm. Obi-Wan watched as the droid drew a tube of his blood, very dark and bright, full of midichlorians, full of the life impulse that Anakin had been born with, and in that moment, when he saw his blood glow, when he remembered Qui-Gon's voice asking him to run a blood test when he remembered Anakin's young, dirty face asking him "are you a Jedi too?", he knew. He knew entirely, with all the certainty in the universe, just as he had faith in the Jedi Order and just as he knew his name was Obi-Wan Kenobi.
When the droid inserted his sample into his laboratory stomach, Obi-Wan knew he was pregnant.
And the droid confirmed it to him almost immediately. "You are 9 weeks pregnant, Master Kenobi. That is the reason you have had symptoms of nausea, vomiting, and fatigue. I would recommend suspending your hormonal treatment intake and, instead, write you a prescription for multivitamins to aid your new condition, as well as that of the fetuses inside your body."
Obi-Wan felt the whole world shatter. The infirmary suddenly seemed too brightly lit, and the familiar noise of the temple was gone entirely. Fetuses?
"That's right, master. According to my scan, you carry within your womb two fetuses. Twins. It is still too early to determine their sex. If you wish to do a more thorough study, I recommend you speak with a healer," the droid explained.
"No!" he exclaimed, standing up. "No. That will not be necessary... And discard the diagnosis you have made. And erase your memory of this consultation," he asked the droid, who, with a flash of light, did just that.
He left the infirmary still dizzy and with his head empty of everything. As if the knowledge was weighing him down, he began to feel his stomach bulging, incredibly full as if he had overeaten, as if he had swallowed a pea, and now a tree was growing out of his belly. Stop it, Obi-Wan, he told himself. You are losing your mind. Think logically.
The logical thing to do would be to go back to the infirmary and ask for a procedure to terminate his pregnancy. The rational thing to do would be to go to Master Yoda and ask for his advice on dealing with this seemingly magical event. Because it was unexplained. Because Obi-Wan was a virgin, he had never had sex with anyone, and his body was infertile. Life was created spontaneously as if the Force itself had willed it so.
Obi-Wan stopped in the middle of the hallway. From where he stood, he could see downstairs, where a small garden opened up where the Padawans gathered after school before returning. There, in the center, he saw his own apprentice. In front of him were Tru and Darra laughing at Anakin, who had taken the water from the fountain in the center of the garden and was floating balls of water that moved like little fish swimming in the air, catching the warm, artificial light of the temple.
He had always admired his natural power, his indisputable relationship with the Force, the way you couldn't explain his existence without considering that he was born from precisely that, from the same midichlorians that connected all living things, from the powerful desire of a lonely, enslaved woman who wanted nothing more than to have someone love her back with all the love in the universe. And didn't Obi-Wan wish the same thing? Absolute understanding, purpose, love?
And as if he had contacted him through the air itself, Anakin turned upward to where he stood and waved hello, making the water droplets dance as if they were crystals, raindrops, or tears—tears made of wishes amidst the laughter of his friends and the incontrovertible certainty that the babies inside him could only belong to his apprentice.
✧₊⁺
Without hormones blocking his body's natural processes, Obi-Wan began to experience what it meant to be a stewjoni. He grew a beard and began to suffer the growing pains firsthand: his breasts swelled, his hips widened, and his libido, which up to that point had been dormant, awoke with animalistic fury.
Usually, Obi-Wan satisfied himself alone, in the shower, or in the solitude of his room while waiting for Anakin to return from classes, and that was enough for now. However, he had found that it was not enough for the discomfort in his breasts, which had begun to generate milk and cause him discomfort that could not be soothed unless he let it flow. But the Force didn't seem to leave anything to chance, for while his apprentice was still too young to calm the fire between his legs, he wasn't too young to suck on his tits and leave them empty.
And Obi-Wan loved those nights when they fell asleep together, and Anakin, tired after a day of training, fell asleep stroking his arm and sucking on it, filling his stomach with the milk that also belonged to him.
This time, the one in front of the mirror was Anakin, rinsing his face after having spent all day trying not to break Ferus Olin's face, and the one waiting patiently for him on the bed was him, Obi-Wan, only wearing his underwear to cover his sex, with his chest bare, which seemed to ache twice as much at the anticipation of having his apprentice in his arms again, feeding from him.
"Hurry up, Padawan," he exclaimed, irritated at the boy's tardiness, which sometimes seemed to do so only to make him desperate. "Tomorrow, we leave for Ragoon-6 and must wake up early."
"Are you in bed already?" the boy asked, drying his face with a towel.
"Yes, Anakin."
"Have you taken off your tunic yet?".
"I don't like what you're implying, young man."
"Yes or no?"
"Yes! I'm ready; now come and lie down."
Anakin came out of the bathroom, fresh and smiling, as if he brought with him the wet breeze of rain, the salty breath of the calm sea. He jumped onto the bed and curled up on his master, beginning to deposit little kisses on his face: on his cheeks, on his forehead, under his eyes, as if he could not contain the emotion inside him, and it spilled out and turned into kisses, into laughter, into caresses. Obi-Wan let him: let Anakin cling to his body and smell him, let him place his hands under his tits and squeeze them gently, let his thumbs gently caress the erect nubs of his nipples.
"Can you sit up?" asked Anakin. "To lie down on your lap so I can do it."
They had never done it this way. Usually, they did it lying on their sides; Anakin pressed on one tit, circling a finger over his stomach, which seemed to bulge more each day.
"Yes. I can do that," Obi-Wan agreed, settling down to lay his back against the headboard of his bed and letting Anakin place his golden head on his lap. It gave him the impression that it was the closest he would get to holding a baby until his own were born. Maybe that was why Anakin wanted to do it that way. It was like practice for him.
Obi-Wan held Anakin's head with his arm, cradling his head and bringing it close to his darkened nipple, ready to be sucked.
But Anakin pressed his nose to his tit and sucked hard at the milky scent of his skin. Then, overcome with the same love with which he had kissed his face, he kissed his nipple, the fat curve of his tit, the sensitive skin where it was beginning to stretch under the weight of his milk. Obi-Wan laughed at the tickle the little kisses gave him. His nipples seemed connected to the rest of his body, and every time Anakin touched him, he felt it all over his body.
"Anakin, stop it."
The boy stuck out his tongue and licked the little droplets of white milk that came out of him. "Do you think it will work with this, too?" Anakin asked, suddenly reaching up and taking one of those drops between his fingers, making Obi-Wan shiver.
"Work for what? What do you mean?"
His padawan didn't answer him right away. He brought his hot, wet mouth closer and began sucking on him, quickly drawing the milk inside him, causing Obi-Wan to close his eyes and throw his head back, possessed by that new sense of pleasure and relief he only felt when Anakin milked him so carefully. In that new position, the milk seemed to flow much more easily, and his apprentice broke away from him several times to breathe and swallow the milk that had accumulated in his mouth.
When he had finished with that tit, he settled back to be level with the other, which he again sniffed, kissed and fondled like the first.
"The wish," Anakin said, his eyes misty with sleep and contentment. "Do you think you can also make a wish with milk drops instead of tears?".
Obi-Wan had to strain to understand what he meant. What wish? Tears?
Anakin helped him. "You told me, long ago, that in Stewjon, where you're from, people made wishes with the tears they shed... and I wondered if you could do it that way, too. I don't know. I was wondering...".
"You still remember that story," Obi-Wan said, his voice cracking, stroking Anakin's hair, feeling almost euphoric, in the wonderful combination of hormones, satisfaction, and midichlorians, rushing in and out of his body, in an endless loop, so much like life itself.
"Of course, I remember. Every time I cry, which isn't very often, by the way, I take one of my tears and make a wish," the boy explained, his pink lips glistening from the milk flowing from them.
Obi-Wan wiped the corner of his lips with his thumb and rolled that drop of milk and saliva between his fingers.
"What do you order?"
"The same as always. May you be happy, master. Are you happy, Obi-Wan?" she asked, placing his hand on his belly, making the babies inside him jump toward him. And for all response, Obi-Wan bent down to kiss the boy's forehead.
"And what would you like to ask of the stars now?"
Anakin blushed. He closed his eyes and pressed his face to his chest, like a baby seeking its mother's warmth. "That they love me. That they love me as much as I love you," he whispered, chagrined at the vulnerability of his words as if it were an utterly foolish, childish wish. And maybe it was, but Obi-Wan would never laugh at him, would never believe it was a silly wish.
It moved him instead. He felt his wish like a hook in his heart, wounding him beautifully and marking him with the Force of a star going supernova, of a miracle coming true before his eyes. For there was no reason for Obi-Wan's children not to love their father. There was no way Obi-Wan would not love Anakin, and that love would replicate like the trembling of stars throughout the galaxy, like a wish spoken into the night.
"Of course, my baby," he said to Anakin, closing his eyes. "I'm going to wish it for you."