Almost Every Part

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Background info for a large portion of this story is taken from the events of Karen Miller's amazing Star Wars novel, "Wild Space". It is an Obi-Wan lover's dream, an angst lover's dream....sigh. Read it.

Author's Note: This story will, eventually, contain *slash to some degree. Between what characters and to what extent and under what circumstances will be revealed in time.

*Slash is this magical thing created to prevent fandoms from becoming stale. If you don't dig slash, then this story isn't going to be for you. Since I've given the warning, there isn't any reason for anti-slash declarations to pop up in reviews.

Obi-Wan and Senator Organa nearly died at the Sith temple. Anakin's relief at his Master's safe return is soon eclipsed by worry---why won't Obi-Wan speak about his ordeal on Zigoola?

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Part One: Everything

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Slaves learned to share things. Whatever little shreds of brightness a slave could find in life was shred into smaller pieces and pressed into as many other palms as possible. At least, that was Anakin Skywalker's experience.

He had always been forced to share the things he loved. His mother, whom he loved with a fierce, piercing brightness, could not always be with him when he needed her. Her life was not her own, and even when he knew she longed to be with her son, chains dragged her to darker corners. He learned to hold tighter when he had the chance. Her free time was precious, and he clung to her then, resented anything or anyone who wanted her attention then. Still, he knew she could not be with him every moment.

He knew her better than anyone. He loved her best. And of course, she loved no one but him, even when she was not with him. In their smudged, desperate world, there was no else but Anakin and Shmi.

And then the Jedi came, and the race, and suddenly he was walking away from her, not even permitted to look over his shoulder at her one more time, where he knew she was standing alone in the sand.

Qui-Gon Jinn had come to life out of a fantastic adventure story, told by Anakin's mother at bedtime, but under the gleam of otherworldly heroics, he was a stranger.

And Anakin would have to share him, too. With Qui-Gon Jinn's apprentice, who did not like him. Anakin knew why, recognized in Obi-Wan Kenobi's eyes the same blistering envy Anakin felt whenever his mother was drawn away from him.

Then the battle came, and the Sith struck, and suddenly he was walking away from the pyre with Obi-Wan Kenobi's hand on his shoulder. He knew what a Padawan was. He knew that Obi-Wan was alone, too, with Qui-Gon dead.

In their hesitant, new world, there was no one else but Anakin and Obi-Wan. Anakin was a Jedi, not a slave. He had things that were all his own now.

He learned that maybe he wouldn't have to share anymore. He could possess things---and people. Obi-Wan was his Master.

Tatooine was far away.

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But somehow, he always ended up back there. To watch his mother die, to walk through wastelands with an apprentice he never asked for. Months later, the taint of that place, the oppression and pain, still lingered, like sand he couldn't shake from his boots. He found himself thinking like a nine year old again, reminding himself that he had to hold on to what was his. Padme. Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan. How the old possessiveness had seized him on the rooftop following the terrorist explosion, where he found his former Master crumpled and half-gone; Anakin always resented mortality's hold on Obi-Wan Kenobi. And later, in the healing room, Anakin could barely control the need to be with him, to stand among the healers as the true means of survival for Obi-Wan. He was ecstatic to be leading his own clone brigade, but a part of him mourned that he was not with Obi-Wan on the Sith-damned Zigoola, that he did not understand the horrors the man had faced there.

Today, Ahsoka was training with other new Padawans. Anakin had long ago adapted to the guilt for deceiving Obi-Wan about Padme, but now it was compounded by this kid. The situation would be complicated as her apprenticeship matured, but the war wouldn't last forever. And who knew what would happen after the Chancellor brought an end to the carnage. Maybe he wouldn't be a Jedi anymore; maybe the Jedi wouldn't need his skill once the Republic thrived in peace. Luckily, classes often occupied Ahsoka and left Anakin with convenient breaks during their rare returns to Coruscant.

And stars above, he was glad to be on Coruscant again. In this home again, he and Padme's, a place that belonged only to the two of them. It seemed to take nothing less than total alignment of stars and fate for both husband and wife to end up on planet at the same time. Padme's increasingly active role in the Senate took her away more than either of them would have liked.

She smiled at him from her pillow, ran her fingers down the sweat-beaded side of his face. "Heavy thoughts?"

He briefly smiled back and caught her fingers gently. "They're pretty much inescapable lately. Sorry."

"Don't be," she shifted, drawing herself into the curve of his bare arm, "I have a few of them myself."

They laid in silence for a moment.

"Senator Organa looked a little better today. When I saw him and Obi-Wan…I understood the meaning of 'the walking dead'."

Anakin turned his eyes towards the window and said nothing.

Padme lifted her head. "What? Has Obi-Wan not talked to you about it yet?"

"No," he murmured.

A pause, "It was very hard on him. He's probably trying to put it behind him."

From what Padme described, it was something anyone would desperately want to forget. When she arrived with the clones, Senator Organa was mangled, but it was the sight of Obi-Wan that brought her to tears: so soon after his near-death from the bombing, Obi-Wan was a bloody skeleton, rendered incapable of speech by his ordeal.

But Obi-Wan did not need to sanitize the more gruesome details for Anakin. After all, Anakin knew about Rattatak and the cruel Sith mask, Geonosis. What was it about Zigoola that Obi-Wan Kenobi wanted to conceal from everyone, even Anakin?

"I wish he would tell me," he admitted quietly. "I don't understand why he won't."

Padme pressed a kiss to his jaw. "It was a nightmare for him. He almost died. Give him time, Anakin. If he talks to anyone about it, it will be you."

"Has Senator Organa said anything about it?"

"No. No, just that it was horrible. But that was obvious just looking at them. Have you spoken to Obi-Wan lately?"

"He's been recovering. And Master Yoda told me he needs quiet."

"Well, we all know you're not very quiet," Padme smirked.

Anakin grinned. "Funny, I'd say the same about you. I wonder if we have any windows left intact after that."

He loved the easy, spontaneous burst of her laughter; it reminded him how he needed to savor these moments...and that he would never have to share them with anyone outside this room.

"Talk to him, Ani. Don't force it. He cares about you," she moved the hair out of his eye, "I know he does."

His silver hand found her warm, pale waist. "Thank you," he whispered against her cheek.

---

"Skyguy!"

Even by Anakin Skywalker's standards, Ahsoka had a lot of energy. She bounded down the Temple hall, feet only occasionally brushing the ground, saber hilt in hand.

Anakin inwardly acknowledged that sometimes it was difficult to feign annoyance with his eager student. Sometimes. "Master. Master Skywalker." He corrected her.

She blinked up at him. "Would Master Skyguy be an acceptable compromise, then?"

He groaned. "Forget it. How was class?"

On the way to the Meal Hall, she explained the techniques Master Drallig demonstrated to the handful of Padawans, and how she and another student were asked to try a new, challenging drill in front of the others.

As they ate, she talked more about Drallig, her voice touched by awe. Anakin wondered how long the revered saber Master would be a focus of worship before the kid started chipping away at his esteemed veneer too.

"So Master Drallig trains all the Padawans, huh?" She asked, stopping her narrative to slurp on bubbly purple juice.

"He does. Including yours truly."

"Wow," She did seem genuinely impressed, her eyes going a little wider, "What about old guys like Master Obi-Wan?"

Anakin snorted. "Be thankful he didn't hear that."

"What?! I mean, he's really fast for an old guy. All the Padawans talk about him. Like when you guys sparred for me and everyone was watching. That was amazing! Can you do that again?"

Anakin looked down at his plate.

"Oh," Ahsoka's voice softened, "Sorry. I forgot he's still recuperating. I haven't seen him around. He must've been really hurt."

"Yeah, he must've," Anakin cleared his throat and used his fork to sift through the greens in front of him. "But we never have to worry about Master Obi-Wan. He can take care of himself."

"You mean when he's not getting blown up and tore apart?"

There was that cynicism, mixed with a childish curiosity—and lack of filter. "You know, Snips, sometimes you could just accept what I say and leave it at that."

"Sorry," she muttered again, finally getting the hint and taking several quick bites.

Still, he could feel her big, worried eyes on him. He was too tired to be annoyed.

---

He dismissed her for the evening; after the initial high of the training session, her weariness from the physical exertion had seeped in.

Anakin watched his Padawan walk away, then started in the opposite direction.

---

Obi-Wan was not in the gardens, and there was no answer at his personal quarters. Anakin inquired and was told the Council was currently in session; he decided to wait outside the chambers.

He felt almost an hour pass before the large, gray door slid open. Anakin stood, tipping his head in recognition of the Councilors who filed quietly out.

His former Master was the last to exit. Obi-Wan was tucking his hood around his face when he realized Anakin was there.

"Well, hello," Obi-Wan smiled, reaching out to clap his shoulder, "If it isn't the famous Jedi and war hero."

Anakin rolled his eyes. Obi-Wan never tired of teasing him about the attention the Holonet paid to his exploits. "Yeah, well, I don't give out autographs."

"A pity."

Anakin studied Obi-Wan's face, shadowed as it was by the cowl. His skin looked healthier, his cheeks fuller than when Anakin last saw him, in the hologram following his escape from Zigoola. Yet the sick rings under the eyes lingered; Anakin knew that was why Obi-Wan was so quick to don the hood, in the middle of the Temple. "My Padawan wants to know why you keep getting yourself blown up and torn to pieces."

Obi-Wan sighed. "It does seem to be an alarming new hobby of mine."

"Do you really think you're ready to resume your duties in the Council?"

"Resume? Anakin, we haven't the time for lengthy convalescence. A day in the sickbed is a day the Separatists have to get ahead of us."

"Said the dead man," Anakin frowned, putting his arm around his still-pale mentor, "C'mon, I'll make you some tea."

---

Obi-Wan's rooms always smelled very clean. He was a tidy man, although he conceded to Anakin that that had not always been the case.

"I could make it, Anakin. Really, I do it all the time---"

Anakin led him to an armchair. "Now, now, Obi-Wan. Sometimes I think you doubt my tea-making skills."

Obi-Wan leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "You do have the habit of making it a little…strong."

"I thought you liked it strong."

"Flavorful, Anakin. But on Gehor V---"

He winced. "Alright, maybe I left it brewing too long that time."

Obi-Wan sat up. "I couldn't sleep for three days!"

"But think of how much you accomplished with all that extra, uh, spunk." Anakin set the brew on the heater, then took his place on the slender, blue sofa. Obi-Wan had fallen back against the chair again. "I think you could use some of that now."

"I'm getting old. Tea won't fix that."

"You're not old, Master." In fact, Obi-Wan's age was surprising, considering his accomplishments. Anakin remembered, early in his own apprenticeship, noticing how smooth Obi-Wan's skin was, free of the lines on his mother's face, on Qui-Gon's. Lines were cropping up on that face now, in the corners of his eyes and between his brows. Anakin could probably trace each wrinkle to its source. Naboo. Geonosis. Rattatak. Christophsis. Zigoola. "You're just…experienced."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "I wish I had a little less experience."

Anakin was sobered by the slump of the other man's body. "The Council could have survived without you for one meeting. You're not well."

Obi-Wan rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Tell me, Anakin, with a new apprentice to train, where you find the time to hover over me like a nurse droid."

"I'm just worried about you," Anakin leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Padme…she told me what you looked like on---"

"Senator Amidala might be a seasoned politician, but she is no soldier. She's not accustomed to seeing the grit."

"I am. I found you on the rooftop." Blood, tremors, froth, his eyes closing oh Force, "It doesn't get any easier."

"For me either," Obi-Wan gave a quick, sad smile, "I'm fine, Anakin."

But looking at his one-time Master, all he could see was the fading body amid the screaming smoke, the red gurgle coming from his mouth, the frantic moment when he really thought---

"If you die, I will never forgive myself." The words were out before Anakin could even process them, purged after what he realized were years of gestation.

Obi-Wan blinked. "Anakin…if I die? Whether this war takes me or not, I'm not immortal. I will die."

"Were you dying on Zigoola?" He blurted, standing, breaths coming too fast, "You must've been. Padme got tears in her eyes when she told me. And you won't talk about it…won't tell me what happened there. You can tell me, Master. I know everything about you, you can trust me with everything---"

Obi-Wan came to his feet. "Anakin, stop this. I told you I'm fine. I'm here and I'm whole. That should be enough. Death is all around us, but I'm standing in front of you. And I do trust you."

"Then why don't you tell me what happened on Zigoola? I just want to help you heal. I wasn't there with you; I need to be here now."

"You are here," Obi-Wan squeezed his arm. "That is enough for me. Your presence gives me strength, Anakin. I'm very thankful for that."

Anakin could not bring himself to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. He was embarrassed, but more than that, he was frustrated. Exhausted. Frightened, in a way he knew was ill fitting a Jedi Knight. Of course Obi-Wan would die. People died. His mother had---"I don't think I could survive. Not after…" he swallowed the lump in his throat, "Not after my mother."

He felt arms come around him. "You will," Obi-Wan whispered, "Your purpose is far greater than mine. You will survive it."

"I shouldn't have to." Anakin countered, gripping him tightly at the shoulders, "And I should've been with you."

"I would not have wanted you there," Obi-Wan was calm as he pulled away, "There is nothing you could have done if you were. It…it would have consumed you, too."

Anakin frowned. "Obi-Wan?" The man's face was waxen, too similar to the bleached pallor Anakin remembered after the explosion. He grabbed him by the elbow, "Do you need to sit down?"

"Lie…lie down," Obi-Wan rasped, and let himself be guided to his bedchamber.

Anakin helped him out of his robe and outer tunics, turned down the bed coverings. He silently cursed himself for putting Obi-Wan in this situation again, stressing him to the point of near-collapse.

But Obi-Wan only appeared grateful as he stretched out, the strain fading from his eyes. "I am fine, Anakin. Just a little tired."

Anakin sat carefully on the side of the bed. "I'm sorry," his voice was low, "I didn't mean to upset you, Master. I just...I hate that I wasn't there with you."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "You are a Knight now, and a teacher in your own right. We can't be The Team all the time. I did survive many years without you, you know."

"Yeah, but you also had Master Qui-Gon to save your butt then."

"Yes, well, my butt's still in one piece. I guess Senator Organa works in a pinch." Obi-Wan's eyes were closed now.

Anakin looked away, picking at a thread on the bed covering. "It's also too scrawny. You're not eating enough."

"I'd eat twice as much as a Bantha and you'd still fret."

Anakin sighed. "You're not taking me seriously. I'm not a Padawan anymore. One day I'll replace Yoda as Grandmaster and then you'll have to do whatever I say."

Obi-Wan chuckled and wiped wearily at his eyes.

Anakin touched his shoulder. "Can I get anything for you?"

"Mm.....no." Obi-Wan murmured. He turned slightly into his pillow. "You could keep your old, tattered Master company though."

Anakin smiled. He considered it a privilege that he was able to see an Obi-Wan no one else saw. He was allowed to sit with him in a dark room. "I will, Master." He replaced his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder and watched him settle into sleep.

After awhile Anakin leaned back and sighed. He would wake up in time to kiss Padme goodnight, in their bed.

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