Fic: White Rabbits (Star Wars, 22/?)
Love is checking a recs journal for new stuff and seeing your story recced on there. Seriously, it's with the good vibes (though there is the not-so-hidden longing for that person to feedback, but being recced is a bit like getting secret feedback, so there's a balance).
Title: White Rabbits
Chapter: 22/?
Author: Diana Michelle (butterfly)
Warnings: Spoilers for Revenge of the Sith. Also, Anakin is an angsty guy, which we did already know.
Pairing: Anakin/Obi-Wan.
Rating: PG/PG-13.
Summary: Anakin gets to know himself a little better.
Disclaimer: Not Lucas, don't own a thing, not making any money.
Chapter Index
Chapter Twenty-Two -- Love and War
“Aren’t you going to play it?” Anakin asked. He didn’t rush over to Obi-Wan and he didn’t even look to see how Obi-Wan was reacting. Instead, he concentrated on placing the panel back in place, sealing up the edges so that it would again be invisible to anyone who didn’t already know it was there.
“It appears to be audio only,” Obi-Wan said.
There was a slight rush of static as the message opened.
At first, there was just the low buzz of ambient noise - even when Anakin concentrated, he couldn’t make out any distinct sounds.
Then, there was a hissing intake of breath, the sound of air being forced through a mechanical breather. Breathers were a last resort, like Anakin’s right arm, used only when the tissue involved was missing or irreparably damaged.
It wasn’t, all things considered, a particularly good sign.
“It was unwise of you to return here.”
The voice was deep and resonant, clearly filtered through vocal harmonizers. It didn’t sound anything like Anakin, but somehow, he still knew that it was his own voice.
“The war is over and you have lost.”
Anakin’s left hand curled around a fragment of stone, tightening until he could feel it biting into his skin.
“If you stay, I will find you.”
There was anger in this room, and hate.
But there was also… regret. A deep, pained longing that wasn’t entirely masked by the flashes of anger that wound around every toppled pillar.
“I will not underestimate you again.”
Anakin twisted around, leaning back against the wall, finally looking over at Obi-Wan and Luke. Obi-Wan was bent forward in his seat, hand stroking over his beard, a familiar look of intent focus on his face. Luke was standing very close to Obi-Wan, one hand on the table next to the screen.
Anakin couldn’t imagine hating Obi-Wan. It was like thinking that he could ever hate Padmé or… or his mother. There had been times, even recently, when he’d wanted nothing more than to hold Obi-Wan down and force him to see that Anakin had grown up, that he was worthy, but that had nothing to do with hate.
“Leave while you still have the chance, old man.”
The message clicked off and the room was filled with silence.
Anakin’s eyes slid shut and he saw the room as it had been the last time that he’d seen it - Obi-Wan had dragged him in to show him Master Nallick’s report on the mining disputes on Mustafar. Obi-Wan had insisted that there was something wrong, something that the Council hadn’t seen.
That was an unusual position for Obi-Wan to take, so Anakin had been interested enough, even though, in the end, Obi-Wan’s lead hadn’t panned out. The agreements had been easily settled by the Chancellor’s direct intercession and no further Jedi involvement had been deemed necessary.
The room had been relatively full that day -- Archivist Nu had had her hands full with a group of younglings, all seeking information on the Starforger dynasty. One of Master Yoda’s little games, setting them all to search out knowledge on the same subject, knowing that they would completely throw the Archivist’s day out of balance, forcing her to take the time to reconnect with the Force on a deeper level.
Master Yoda had told Anakin once that the Jedi needed to be shaken out of their complacency on a regular basis or they would stagnate. It had been one of their few points of agreement.
On that particular day, Obi-Wan had been sitting over near the doorway, just past the bust of Master Korja Yu’ung, thought to be the creator of the first lightsaber. Anakin had been leaning over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, resisting the urge to hop up and sit on the table only because Archivist Nu would have noticed in an instant and rushed over to scold him.
It had been a good day - Obi-Wan had been intensely involved in his theory, pointing out the inconsistencies of the report with an excitement that he generally only exhibited in the heat of battle.
But the soft warmth of the memory couldn’t withstand the waves of anger and hate that were sloshing messily around the room, and Anakin found that the vision in his mind was shifting.
Now, he saw Archivist Nu, sprawled on the floor, her lightsaber rolling out of a now-limp hand. She was marked by dozens of blaster wounds, and even though he’d known that she’d been dead after the fourth hit, he hadn’t stopped the soldiers from continuing to shoot.
She’d been protecting a group of younglings, the ones old enough to be Padawans, but not chosen yet.
And because of him, none of them ever would be.
Anakin felt Obi-Wan’s presence near him and he opened his eyes slowly. Obi-Wan was crouched in front of him, looking at him with concern. He latched onto Obi-Wan’s calm, hoping that it would be enough to quiet the fear in his heart.
“What are you sensing?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Hate. Fear. Anger, and… suffering,” Anakin said. All emotions that led straight to the dark side. “And they’re from me.”
“Do you have any sense of why?” Obi-Wan asked.
“No,” Anakin said hoarsely. “And it doesn’t make sense, Master.”
“None of this is making any sense, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out and placing a hand on Anakin’s knee. “We haven’t discovered the key yet. Once we do, hopefully things will fall into place.”
“And we’ll be able to fix things when we get back home,” Anakin said.
“What, exactly, are you planning to fix?” Luke asked. Anakin glanced up, startled - he’d almost forgotten that the boy was there at all.
“I’ll save your mother,” Anakin said. “I already know how to do that. And perhaps if we talk to Chancellor Palpatine-“
“Actually, that won’t help much,” Obi-Wan said. “He’s on the wrong side, apparently.”
“What?”
“I believe that Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord that we’ve been looking for,” Obi-Wan said. There was a certain unnecessary smugness to his tone, despite the way he was clearly trying to be compassionate.
“I don’t…” Anakin paused, trying to fit that into his view of Palpatine. “He’s been nothing but a friend to me, Master. He’s not a monster.”
“Perhaps not,” Obi-Wan said. “I myself had been wondering for some time if he was being used by the Sith, against his knowledge. But he’s too clever to just be someone else’s pawn, we both know that.”
“He’s always been a friend,” Anakin protested again, but weakly. In this room, surrounded by the voices of the dead, he could feel the truth of the accusation. “He has supported me through everything, encouraged me whenever I faltered.”
“And you ended up falling to the dark side,” Obi-Wan said, not unkindly. “The two things may be related.”
“Palpatine does become the Emperor,” Luke said softly. “And you serve under him, enforcing his rule.”
“Doing all those terrible things that your sister accused me of,” Anakin said, looking away from them and finding himself staring into the accusing eyes of Master Naelia Juaru, who’d died fighting the Sith a thousand years ago. She’d been the last great general of the Jedi, before the Clone War had begun and created new ones. “I betrayed the Order.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said.
“I betrayed you,” Anakin said, voice trembling. “And I still don’t know why!”
“Anakin, look at me,” Obi-Wan said. Anakin shook his head, helplessly. “Look at me.”
Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan’s hand, warm and strong on Anakin’s knee.
Obi-Wan’s hands summed him up, in a way, their power and grace apparent only on close inspection. On first glance, they were just hands, but the more Anakin looked at them, at the light dusting of hair, the lines of the knuckles, and the reassuring imperfection of the bitten-down nails, the more complex and… beautiful they seemed to be.
“You will look at me, my Padawan,” Obi-Wan said, his voice sharpening.
With a start, Anakin’s gaze shot up.
“I’m not your Padawan anymore,” Anakin said, faintly.
“But it worked, didn’t it?” Obi-Wan said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m sorry, Master, I should have had more control,” Anakin said.
“You’ve received more nasty shocks over the last few hours than anyone should get in a lifetime,” Obi-Wan said. “You’ve earned the right to decompress. But we can choose a place a little less likely to induce complete depression, I think.”
Anakin nodded, still a little shaky. Obi-Wan held out a hand to Anakin. Anakin placed his right hand in Obi-Wan’s and let Obi-Wan help him to stand.
“The mission reports?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan held up his other hand, revealing a data chip for a moment before he slipped it into a pouch. “Then we can leave?”
“I think that that would be a good idea, yes,” Obi-Wan said. He reached out towards Anakin, taking his left hand, and Anakin realized that he was still holding a piece of rubble. Obi-Wan slowly pried Anakin’s fingers away from the rock and Anakin gasped as his palm tingled. The rock tumbled to the floor and blood welled up in several tiny, uneven puncture wounds. Obi-Wan gently wiped Anakin’s hand clean with the pale sleeve of his tunic, pressing the fabric over Anakin’s palm to stop the bleeding.
“We can look those reports over in a safe place,” Luke said.
Anakin glanced over at Luke - he was looking at them with a very carefully guarded expression. Anakin hadn’t yet had a chance to figure Luke out, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he should try.
It might not be a very good idea to get to know Luke.
“I agree,” Obi-Wan said, releasing Anakin’s hand. Anakin let his hand fall to his side, tightening it into a fist again. “And am I to assume that you know such a place?”
“The headquarters of the New Republic are pretty close, only a few minutes by air cab,” Luke said. “And I can talk to an old friend while we’re there.”
“And after we look over those reports, perhaps you can tell us more about your New Republic,” Obi-Wan said. “I find that I am extremely interested in just how it came to be. And perhaps there will be someone there who has a better idea of just what happened to cause the Republic to fall.”
“Leia told me that our leader, Mon Mothma, used to be a senator in the old Republic,” Luke offered.
“We’ve met, actually,” Obi-Wan said, a speculative look on his face. “She moved in the same circles as Senators Organa and Amidala.”
“Padmé likes her,” Anakin offered. “I don’t remember meeting her, though I’m sure that I must have.”
“Yes, she may be able to tell us a great deal,” Obi-Wan said, heading back towards the entrance of the room. “And it will be interesting to see how she reacts when she recognizes us.”
“You’re so certain that she will?” Luke asked.
“Oh, she’ll remember us,” Anakin said, as he and Luke followed Obi-Wan back out of the Temple. “We were the best-known faces in the Republic, next to the Chancellor himself.”
A wave of voices and the whisper of blaster shots washed over Anakin from a nearby corridor, and he hurried his steps.
All his life, Anakin had wanted a million things, all at once. But in this moment, he wanted nothing more than to walk in the Temple and be surrounded by his fellow Jedi.
To hear Master Yoda speak words of disguised wisdom, or listen the suspicious rumble of Master Windu’s constant reprimands. To have Jurun Kamoian ask him for sparring sessions or Archivist Nu take him by the ear and chide him for speaking too loudly.
He wanted to reach out to Obi-Wan with the Force and have his Master reach back to him.
Instead, he was besieged by the trapped memories of the accusing dead, and they refused to stay silent.
As a child, he had heard some space traders talk of an idea of a place called ‘hell’. It wasn’t anything the Jedi believed in, but he’d done some research on it when he was thirteen and trying to find a word for new feelings that he was experiencing.
Obi-Wan had eventually, hesitatingly, explained that the changes he was going through were a natural part of his lifecycle, and nothing to be ashamed of.
Still, at thirteen, losing control of his body had seemed to fit the idea of unbearable torment.
At twenty-two, he had thought he had a better idea of what torment was - a battle that seemed more pointless by the day, deceiving one of the most important people in his life, and taking on the frustrating task of trying to satisfy the Jedi Council. On top of that, he’d still been struggling with his grief for his mother and with overcoming the limitations of his new arm.
He’d thought that that was hell because he hadn’t realized how much more there was to lose.
Just yesterday, he’d been a hero of the Republic, married to the strongest, most beautiful woman in the universe, and half of the most skilled and powerful Jedi pairing ever known.
But here, and now, Padmé was dead, Palpatine was a Sith, the Jedi Order had fallen, and all of it was laid at his feet.
Now, he finally knew the true meaning of that word, ‘hell’.
~end chapter twenty-two~
Title: White Rabbits
Chapter: 22/?
Author: Diana Michelle (butterfly)
Warnings: Spoilers for Revenge of the Sith. Also, Anakin is an angsty guy, which we did already know.
Pairing: Anakin/Obi-Wan.
Rating: PG/PG-13.
Summary: Anakin gets to know himself a little better.
Disclaimer: Not Lucas, don't own a thing, not making any money.
Chapter Index
Chapter Twenty-Two -- Love and War
“Aren’t you going to play it?” Anakin asked. He didn’t rush over to Obi-Wan and he didn’t even look to see how Obi-Wan was reacting. Instead, he concentrated on placing the panel back in place, sealing up the edges so that it would again be invisible to anyone who didn’t already know it was there.
“It appears to be audio only,” Obi-Wan said.
There was a slight rush of static as the message opened.
At first, there was just the low buzz of ambient noise - even when Anakin concentrated, he couldn’t make out any distinct sounds.
Then, there was a hissing intake of breath, the sound of air being forced through a mechanical breather. Breathers were a last resort, like Anakin’s right arm, used only when the tissue involved was missing or irreparably damaged.
It wasn’t, all things considered, a particularly good sign.
“It was unwise of you to return here.”
The voice was deep and resonant, clearly filtered through vocal harmonizers. It didn’t sound anything like Anakin, but somehow, he still knew that it was his own voice.
“The war is over and you have lost.”
Anakin’s left hand curled around a fragment of stone, tightening until he could feel it biting into his skin.
“If you stay, I will find you.”
There was anger in this room, and hate.
But there was also… regret. A deep, pained longing that wasn’t entirely masked by the flashes of anger that wound around every toppled pillar.
“I will not underestimate you again.”
Anakin twisted around, leaning back against the wall, finally looking over at Obi-Wan and Luke. Obi-Wan was bent forward in his seat, hand stroking over his beard, a familiar look of intent focus on his face. Luke was standing very close to Obi-Wan, one hand on the table next to the screen.
Anakin couldn’t imagine hating Obi-Wan. It was like thinking that he could ever hate Padmé or… or his mother. There had been times, even recently, when he’d wanted nothing more than to hold Obi-Wan down and force him to see that Anakin had grown up, that he was worthy, but that had nothing to do with hate.
“Leave while you still have the chance, old man.”
The message clicked off and the room was filled with silence.
Anakin’s eyes slid shut and he saw the room as it had been the last time that he’d seen it - Obi-Wan had dragged him in to show him Master Nallick’s report on the mining disputes on Mustafar. Obi-Wan had insisted that there was something wrong, something that the Council hadn’t seen.
That was an unusual position for Obi-Wan to take, so Anakin had been interested enough, even though, in the end, Obi-Wan’s lead hadn’t panned out. The agreements had been easily settled by the Chancellor’s direct intercession and no further Jedi involvement had been deemed necessary.
The room had been relatively full that day -- Archivist Nu had had her hands full with a group of younglings, all seeking information on the Starforger dynasty. One of Master Yoda’s little games, setting them all to search out knowledge on the same subject, knowing that they would completely throw the Archivist’s day out of balance, forcing her to take the time to reconnect with the Force on a deeper level.
Master Yoda had told Anakin once that the Jedi needed to be shaken out of their complacency on a regular basis or they would stagnate. It had been one of their few points of agreement.
On that particular day, Obi-Wan had been sitting over near the doorway, just past the bust of Master Korja Yu’ung, thought to be the creator of the first lightsaber. Anakin had been leaning over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, resisting the urge to hop up and sit on the table only because Archivist Nu would have noticed in an instant and rushed over to scold him.
It had been a good day - Obi-Wan had been intensely involved in his theory, pointing out the inconsistencies of the report with an excitement that he generally only exhibited in the heat of battle.
But the soft warmth of the memory couldn’t withstand the waves of anger and hate that were sloshing messily around the room, and Anakin found that the vision in his mind was shifting.
Now, he saw Archivist Nu, sprawled on the floor, her lightsaber rolling out of a now-limp hand. She was marked by dozens of blaster wounds, and even though he’d known that she’d been dead after the fourth hit, he hadn’t stopped the soldiers from continuing to shoot.
She’d been protecting a group of younglings, the ones old enough to be Padawans, but not chosen yet.
And because of him, none of them ever would be.
Anakin felt Obi-Wan’s presence near him and he opened his eyes slowly. Obi-Wan was crouched in front of him, looking at him with concern. He latched onto Obi-Wan’s calm, hoping that it would be enough to quiet the fear in his heart.
“What are you sensing?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Hate. Fear. Anger, and… suffering,” Anakin said. All emotions that led straight to the dark side. “And they’re from me.”
“Do you have any sense of why?” Obi-Wan asked.
“No,” Anakin said hoarsely. “And it doesn’t make sense, Master.”
“None of this is making any sense, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out and placing a hand on Anakin’s knee. “We haven’t discovered the key yet. Once we do, hopefully things will fall into place.”
“And we’ll be able to fix things when we get back home,” Anakin said.
“What, exactly, are you planning to fix?” Luke asked. Anakin glanced up, startled - he’d almost forgotten that the boy was there at all.
“I’ll save your mother,” Anakin said. “I already know how to do that. And perhaps if we talk to Chancellor Palpatine-“
“Actually, that won’t help much,” Obi-Wan said. “He’s on the wrong side, apparently.”
“What?”
“I believe that Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord that we’ve been looking for,” Obi-Wan said. There was a certain unnecessary smugness to his tone, despite the way he was clearly trying to be compassionate.
“I don’t…” Anakin paused, trying to fit that into his view of Palpatine. “He’s been nothing but a friend to me, Master. He’s not a monster.”
“Perhaps not,” Obi-Wan said. “I myself had been wondering for some time if he was being used by the Sith, against his knowledge. But he’s too clever to just be someone else’s pawn, we both know that.”
“He’s always been a friend,” Anakin protested again, but weakly. In this room, surrounded by the voices of the dead, he could feel the truth of the accusation. “He has supported me through everything, encouraged me whenever I faltered.”
“And you ended up falling to the dark side,” Obi-Wan said, not unkindly. “The two things may be related.”
“Palpatine does become the Emperor,” Luke said softly. “And you serve under him, enforcing his rule.”
“Doing all those terrible things that your sister accused me of,” Anakin said, looking away from them and finding himself staring into the accusing eyes of Master Naelia Juaru, who’d died fighting the Sith a thousand years ago. She’d been the last great general of the Jedi, before the Clone War had begun and created new ones. “I betrayed the Order.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said.
“I betrayed you,” Anakin said, voice trembling. “And I still don’t know why!”
“Anakin, look at me,” Obi-Wan said. Anakin shook his head, helplessly. “Look at me.”
Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan’s hand, warm and strong on Anakin’s knee.
Obi-Wan’s hands summed him up, in a way, their power and grace apparent only on close inspection. On first glance, they were just hands, but the more Anakin looked at them, at the light dusting of hair, the lines of the knuckles, and the reassuring imperfection of the bitten-down nails, the more complex and… beautiful they seemed to be.
“You will look at me, my Padawan,” Obi-Wan said, his voice sharpening.
With a start, Anakin’s gaze shot up.
“I’m not your Padawan anymore,” Anakin said, faintly.
“But it worked, didn’t it?” Obi-Wan said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m sorry, Master, I should have had more control,” Anakin said.
“You’ve received more nasty shocks over the last few hours than anyone should get in a lifetime,” Obi-Wan said. “You’ve earned the right to decompress. But we can choose a place a little less likely to induce complete depression, I think.”
Anakin nodded, still a little shaky. Obi-Wan held out a hand to Anakin. Anakin placed his right hand in Obi-Wan’s and let Obi-Wan help him to stand.
“The mission reports?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan held up his other hand, revealing a data chip for a moment before he slipped it into a pouch. “Then we can leave?”
“I think that that would be a good idea, yes,” Obi-Wan said. He reached out towards Anakin, taking his left hand, and Anakin realized that he was still holding a piece of rubble. Obi-Wan slowly pried Anakin’s fingers away from the rock and Anakin gasped as his palm tingled. The rock tumbled to the floor and blood welled up in several tiny, uneven puncture wounds. Obi-Wan gently wiped Anakin’s hand clean with the pale sleeve of his tunic, pressing the fabric over Anakin’s palm to stop the bleeding.
“We can look those reports over in a safe place,” Luke said.
Anakin glanced over at Luke - he was looking at them with a very carefully guarded expression. Anakin hadn’t yet had a chance to figure Luke out, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he should try.
It might not be a very good idea to get to know Luke.
“I agree,” Obi-Wan said, releasing Anakin’s hand. Anakin let his hand fall to his side, tightening it into a fist again. “And am I to assume that you know such a place?”
“The headquarters of the New Republic are pretty close, only a few minutes by air cab,” Luke said. “And I can talk to an old friend while we’re there.”
“And after we look over those reports, perhaps you can tell us more about your New Republic,” Obi-Wan said. “I find that I am extremely interested in just how it came to be. And perhaps there will be someone there who has a better idea of just what happened to cause the Republic to fall.”
“Leia told me that our leader, Mon Mothma, used to be a senator in the old Republic,” Luke offered.
“We’ve met, actually,” Obi-Wan said, a speculative look on his face. “She moved in the same circles as Senators Organa and Amidala.”
“Padmé likes her,” Anakin offered. “I don’t remember meeting her, though I’m sure that I must have.”
“Yes, she may be able to tell us a great deal,” Obi-Wan said, heading back towards the entrance of the room. “And it will be interesting to see how she reacts when she recognizes us.”
“You’re so certain that she will?” Luke asked.
“Oh, she’ll remember us,” Anakin said, as he and Luke followed Obi-Wan back out of the Temple. “We were the best-known faces in the Republic, next to the Chancellor himself.”
A wave of voices and the whisper of blaster shots washed over Anakin from a nearby corridor, and he hurried his steps.
All his life, Anakin had wanted a million things, all at once. But in this moment, he wanted nothing more than to walk in the Temple and be surrounded by his fellow Jedi.
To hear Master Yoda speak words of disguised wisdom, or listen the suspicious rumble of Master Windu’s constant reprimands. To have Jurun Kamoian ask him for sparring sessions or Archivist Nu take him by the ear and chide him for speaking too loudly.
He wanted to reach out to Obi-Wan with the Force and have his Master reach back to him.
Instead, he was besieged by the trapped memories of the accusing dead, and they refused to stay silent.
As a child, he had heard some space traders talk of an idea of a place called ‘hell’. It wasn’t anything the Jedi believed in, but he’d done some research on it when he was thirteen and trying to find a word for new feelings that he was experiencing.
Obi-Wan had eventually, hesitatingly, explained that the changes he was going through were a natural part of his lifecycle, and nothing to be ashamed of.
Still, at thirteen, losing control of his body had seemed to fit the idea of unbearable torment.
At twenty-two, he had thought he had a better idea of what torment was - a battle that seemed more pointless by the day, deceiving one of the most important people in his life, and taking on the frustrating task of trying to satisfy the Jedi Council. On top of that, he’d still been struggling with his grief for his mother and with overcoming the limitations of his new arm.
He’d thought that that was hell because he hadn’t realized how much more there was to lose.
Just yesterday, he’d been a hero of the Republic, married to the strongest, most beautiful woman in the universe, and half of the most skilled and powerful Jedi pairing ever known.
But here, and now, Padmé was dead, Palpatine was a Sith, the Jedi Order had fallen, and all of it was laid at his feet.
Now, he finally knew the true meaning of that word, ‘hell’.
~end chapter twenty-two~