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The Citadel was even more formidable than their intel led them to believe. Obi-wan wasn’t sure how they were going to get out of this. The mission had quickly fallen apart, despite all their preparation. Their numbers continued to dwindle, and Sobeck had just killed Atlas. The Phindian’s outright use of the word ‘torture’ did not bode well for their chances of getting out alive. And Even Piell, Obi-wan knew, had already been tortured for some time.
He was glad, now, that the rescue had split into two groups.
The prisoners were herded out into the hallway. Obi-wan was last, and he was all too aware of the blaster pointed at his spine. He didn’t expect the procession to be grouped right outside, but as he joined them, he saw why.
“Master Kenobi,” Dooku said, a smile curling his thin lips. “What a surprise.”
The former Jedi, now Count of Serenno, leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and self-proclaimed Sith, stood in the hallway, his cloak drawn about him. His silvered hair was swept back, his chin tilted to the same derisive angle. His sharp eyes had a cunning gleam as his attention lingered on Obi-wan.
Not good. The Jedi looked at Dooku, the line between his eyebrows deepening. “Hello, Count. I didn’t expect to run into you here.”
Sobeck poked his head out the door. Dooku smiled, and Obi-wan noticed the way the Phindian’s eyes widened, fingers tightening on the frame with fear.
“Ah, Count Dooku! What an honor to have you here,” Sobeck fumbled. “Ah, the Jedi prisoner has been recaptured, and they are on their way to interrogation.”
His clumsy attempts to hide his fear, his uncertainty, did not seem to amuse the Count. “As I see,” Dooku said coolly. His manner dripped disapproval and disdain. “But there are two Jedi in front of me. You have additional prisoners.”
“A rescue attempt,” Sobeck explained. “However, we successfully prevented their escape.”
Dooku surveyed the group. “Where,” he said slowly, “are the rest of the prisoners that were originally captured? These are clones under Kenobi’s command.”
Sobeck dithered. “Well, ah, we have not yet re-captured them. But—”
Obi-wan’s heart sank. Dooku was too wily to miss the clues. A rescue attempt discovered, where only half of the original prisoners were recaptured? The conclusion was inevitable, but Obi-wan still found himself hoping that Dooku wouldn’t figure it out; that he was preoccupied or didn’t know that the information had been split in half.
But it was not to be. Dooku met Kenobi’s eyes. “Skywalker,” he drawled deliberately.
Obi-wan did not flinch, but it was a near thing.
“Do you truly expect me to waste time gloating, Kenobi?”
The Jedi followed Dooku’s path with accusing blue eyes. “You did before. I fail to see why you would change now.”
Dooku paused. Their paths had crossed often, more so than Dooku would have hoped. The first time was on Geonosis. Last time, he had been in a position similar to the one Kenobi was in now: hanging in a suspension field, wrists pulled overhead by the magnetic cuffs clamped around them. Then, it had been Kenobi that had mocked him. Kenobi’s insufferable disrespect and inflated sense of self-righteousness had grated against Dooku’s nerves in their subsequent imprisonment by Ohnaka’s band. Now, their positions were reversed.
“Very well,” he said gravely. “You, Kenobi, will be my leverage. I will pry the routes from your fellow Jedi, using your screams. You will also be the bait to lure your impulsive young apprentice into my trap. I will have the information I need, and I will have the so-called Chosen One.” He smiled, slowly, studying every expression that crossed the young jedi’s face.
“Anakin won’t come,” Obi-wan insisted. “He has a job to do.”
Please, Anakin, use some sense.
An interrogation droid drove an electrostaff into Obi-wan’s ribs. His body convulsed as every nerve in his body seemed to stand on end. The electric shock was hot, and crisp, and burrowed into him mercilessly. It came in short bursts every few seconds, marking the passage of time. Obi-wan’s boots had been removed to ensure the ankle cuffs were tight, which meant that his ankles would be as sore as his wrists if-- when-- they escaped.
“You are a fool if you think torturing him will make me give you the intel.” Piell’s gravelly voice interrupted the zaps of pain. “We are both willing to die to protect it.”
“Perhaps,” Dooku mused. “But are you willing to let someone else die for you?”
Obi-wan lifted his head, taking advantage of the respite the conversation was giving him. “Of course he is,” he said. He couldn’t see Master Piell from his position, but the message should be clear enough. “It is a life willingly given.”
“I don’t recall asking you,” Dooku said.
He flicked his hand, and another bruise was slammed into Obi-wan’s abdomen. The accompanying shock left Obi-wan panting. “That’s usually what people do in an interrogation,” he wheezed as soon as he was able.
The only acknowledgement was the briefest pause before Dooku spoke again. “Tell me the coordinates of the Nexus Route, or I will be forced to make your friend’s life more difficult.”
Again, Obi-wan spoke up, sparing Piell from answering. “I wonder what it would be like to have a difficult life,” he said sarcastically. Sweat was already dripping down his forehead from the strength of the repeated contractions.
Dooku said nothing. He simply waited, hands clasped behind his back.
Obi-wan gasped at the next jab from the electrostaff This burst of electricity was longer, robbing him of his silence. A gargled scream bent his head back. His body was at the mercy of the blue fire dancing across his skin, plucking at the taut tendons and muscles. When at last it ended, he tasted salt and iron; he’d bitten into his tongue. He forced himself to try to relax.
“Now,” Dooku said. His tone was dark, instantly snatching attention his way. “One last chance, before the interrogation truly begins.”
Piell remained silent.
Obi-wan braced himself as Dooku nodded to the interrogation droid. Dropping the electrostaff, it extended one of its arms. Its facsimile of a hand retracted, a short blade taking its place. Obi-wan’s lips tightened.
“Did you know, Master Piel,” Dooku said conversationally, “that Kenobi has a propensity for trouble? He always seems to walk right into it. And yet,” the count turned to look at Obi-wan, “he always seems to be able to walk right out of it again.” He smiled slowly, curling a thin line of cruelty across his face. “This time, I will make sure he won’t.”
The droid gripped the cuff around Obi-wan’s right ankle. The other arm moved slowly, ever so slowly, toward Obi-wan’s foot. Its edge heated to a fine red glow.
Obi-wan kicked out, but the suspension field reduced the movement to a mere centimeter. Bending the arch of his foot only delayed the inevitable by a few seconds.
Obi-wan groaned, voice trailing into a high whine as lines of fire were traced across the soles of his foot. The sensitive nerves made sure he felt both cut and burn. The droid kept going, cutting furrows into the bottom of Obi-wan's foot. He didn’t know how deep the wounds were. He only knew that they stung and blazed with pain, outlined with the fire of burns.
“You could spare the other one,” Dooku informed Master Piell.
“I’m sorry, Obi-wan,” Even said. His voice was hushed, but the Jedi’s steel would not yield.
“It’s fine,” Obi-wan assured his fellow Council member. He understood. He hoped Master Piell’s resolution continued, even as the droid gripped his other ankle.
At least there was very little blood, Obi-wan thought to himself. It was a poor distraction from the process of his foot being sliced open in neat rows, but it was all he had. It would be worse if the heat weren’t partially cauterizing it. His leg twitched as the droid finished the final cut. He knew that though they hurt now, it was nothing compared to what awaited when his weight was put upon them.
Dooku sighed dramatically. “And he had such a promising career.”
“You think this is going to end my career?” Obi-wan gave a weak laugh. “I’ve had far worse than this, count. This was almost ticklish.”
“Hold on to your sense of humor, Master Kenobi,” Dooku replied dourly. “You will need it.”
“What I need is sleep,” Obi-wan said. “When was the last time I took a nap, Even?”
Master Piell had always been perceptive. Sensing Obi-wan’s intent, he played along. “How would I know?” he said.
“You were at the last meeting,” Obi-wan quipped. “Maybe you were asleep too. Guess you won't be getting anything important out of us, count.”
“If you are such good friends,” Dooku interrupted, biting off the last word as if it offended him, “then you will give up the intel, Piell. My patience is wearing thin.”
“You can hardly blame me for that,” Obi-wan said, keeping his voice light. “It was already so thin to begin with.”
“Keep your tongue behind your teeth, where it belongs,” Dooku snapped.
Very slowly, Obi-wan stuck his tongue out. He knew he would regret the childish gesture, but he did it all the same. His intent was twofold; as long as he could joke, Even would know he was alright, and the Count’s ire would remain on Obi-wan instead of the already-tortured Lannik.
Dooku’s lip curled. Deigning to bring one hand from behind his back, he sent a violent stream of lightning Obi-wan’s way.
Obi-wan had just enough time to pull his tongue in before it struck. His teeth clicked together, grinding as the electricity raged through him. He tossed his head, a base instinct as his body writhed. Though the duration of the current was short, its ache lingered in his bones.
“I will not ask you again, Piell,” Dooku said. “What happens now is on you. You will have power to stop it at any time.” He swept into the corner of the room, out of sight, to be replaced with two more interrogation droids and Osi Sobeck.
“I’m actually looking forward to this,” Sobeck said, grinning at Obi-wan.
Obi-wan could accurately state that he was not. He didn’t, however. What he did say was, “I thought you said the torture was going to be slow.”
“Oh, it has been,” the Separatist chuckled. He walked to Obi-wan’s right, where Master-Piell had been retained. “If you want to give us the hyperspace lanes,” Sobeck told the Lannick Jedi, “you will have to speak up to be heard over him.”
Obi-wan screamed as a violent storm of agony rolled up from his feet. It roared, filling his head with white noise. He was vaguely aware of his leg jerking wildly against the magnetic cuffs, but for several long seconds all he knew was the howl of pain tearing up his spine and out of his throat.
It hadn’t faded before another rod was slammed against his lacerated feet. This time Obi-wan was semi expecting it, and he held back the scream that tried to claw its way out. The droids were methodical, precise in their timing and their strikes. Before long the soles of the Jedi’s feet were wet. Spots danced across Obi-wan’s vision. His jaw ached, teeth feeling like they were going to shatter from being clenched so hard.
And suddenly, Even Piell began to talk.
“Ob-wan, did I ever tell you how I lost my eye?” he asked.
Obi-wan’s frame shuddered. “I believe I know the general—ah!—story, but I –hnnng--- don’t know that I’ve heard the full—” Obi-wan cut off with a strangled sound.
“Dooku cannot hurt me or use this information,” Piell began. “It started when I returned to my homeworld…”
The gruff voice continued on, weaving a story full of princesses, warriors, terrorists, and fighting alongside the Palace Guard of Lannik. Obi-wan tried to focus on the story, but his own pain interrupted frequently, whiting out pieces for seconds at a time. The wounds were on fire, as if he stood on hot coals.
“I refused a cybernetic eye and bacta,” Piell said frankly. “The scars are a reminder to me, of victory despite the odds. It may not always come without personal cost, but with the Force, we are able to overcome painful opposition.”
“Yes,” Obi-wan agreed. He knew what Even was trying to do. “With the Force.” Strands of hair were stuck to his forehead, and his shoulders ached. The agony rolling up from his feet and lower body made his brain fizzle.
It was at this point that the interrogation droids put aside the rods they’d been using to beat his shins and the soles of his feet. Obi-wan breathed slowly, doing his best to prepare for whatever came next. Four counts in, hold, four counts out, hold, four counts in….
“Kenobi.” Dooku spoke up for the first time in a long while. “Skywalker has surely discovered your absence by now and knows something is amiss. I do hope he will be arriving soon, for your sake.”
Obi-wan didn’t bother lifting his chin off his chest. “I don’t recall asking you,” he said, repeating the count’s words back to him. “And I highly doubt that you are concerned for my health.”
“I am concerned,” Dooku said, coming to stand in front of his prisoner, “that you are not.”
This time Obi-wan did lift his head, just enough to glare at the Sith. The room seemed to shrink, excluding the presence of Even Piell and the interrogation droids until there was nothing but him and Dooku. The brown eyes—brown, not gold—watched him with a curious mixture of disapproval, disappointment, and detached pity. As if he were genuinely concerned that Obi-wan could be so flippant about his current predicament.
“Don’t do this,” Obi-wan said as forcefully as he could. “Don’t pretend you care.”
One of the droids chose that moment to shock the prisoner. Obi-wan’s focus broke, a muffled scream dropping out of his mouth. The iron taste thickened. His arm jerked hard as his back arched, pulling against the cuffs holding him.
Dooku remained still, hands tucked away as he contemplated Obi-wan, watching the Jedi in the aftermath of the shock. “I do not have to pretend,” he said finally, and Obi-wan’s brow furrowed. “However, I must admit I do not understand how one such as you can be so ignorant and unrefined. It concerns me that you did not listen the last time you were in this position. You did nothing.”
“You know nothing,” Obi-wan said lowly. His strained voice turned it into a growl. “You do not know the inner workings of the Jedi Order and its Council, because you left it. You assume too much.”
“I left the Jedi Order because I saw the truth,” Dooku said sharply. “I saw the corruption overtaking the Republic. In their arrogance the Jedi did nothing to prevent it. I could not stand for it. I now seek for a better galaxy.” His expression reverted to concern. “Surely, Master Kenobi, it would strengthen both of our causes if you were to join me.”
Obi-wan glared. He would not acknowledge this second invitation to defect. “Do not claim to care for me or for the good of the galaxy. If you truly wanted to defeat the Sith, whom you claim is ready to overthrow the Senate from the inside, then you would give a name. If the Republic is corrupted, the corruption can only be cured from the inside. Not outside.”
“If the core is rotten, the fruit is lost,” Dooku countered. “Surely, Master Kenobi, the Jedi have not overlooked such a basic concept.”
“Rot must be cut out if anything is to be saved,” Obi-wan conceded. “But one can only take time to do that when they are not constantly chasing off scavenger birds.”
Dooku hummed. “I had hoped that you would understand,” he said. “Perhaps in time, without the distraction of physical vision, the Force will help you to truly see.” The Sith turned, addressing Even Piell. “The hyperspace coordinates.”
Even shook his head. “Our answer is the same.”
“Proceed.” Dooku’s voice was full of contempt, any trace of pity swept aside. The single word had a ring of doom to it.
Sobeck sniggered, gesturing commands to the droids.
One of them stopped in front of where Obi-wan hung suspended. Its arm split into three sharp prongs, and it reached for him. Obi-wan leaned away from it, turning his head away from the device. The slow advance of the metal claws was purposeful, giving Dooku time to settle back in his corner.
“Release the information,” the droid intoned.
“Absolutely not,” Obi-wan wheezed. His throat felt raw. It probably was.
“Then you will continue to suffer.”
“So be it.”
“--bi-wan.”
Someone was tapping his shoulder. Obi-wan groaned. He drew in air like a drowning man as his body made known just how much it hurt. The influx of pain was almost enough to send him under again.
“Easy, Obi-wan, we’re going to get you down.”
“’kin?” Obi-wan croaked. “Dooku—can’t be here—”
“It’s alright, Master Piell is watching the door…
His eyelid fluttered open. The world was fragmented. Pain stabbed like a javelin through his eye socket, joining the clamor of signals assaulting his senses. One appeared to be gummed shut, and he was grateful.
The magnetic suspension field was turned off, and Obi-wan’s body crashed downward. Anakin was there to catch him, but Obi-wan was unable to assist, and he ended up mostly on the floor.
“An’kin, the intel—”
“Tarkin is safe,” Anakin said. He lifted Obi-wan’s arm over his shoulder, trying to pull him up.
Obi-wan sank his teeth into his lip as his feet touched the floor. It hurt so bad he melted beneath the fiery burden of it, his mushy joints unable to support him.
“Watch his feet,” someone hissed, and Obi-wan thought it must be Cody. Or Rex, or Fives, the ARC trooper from Anakin’s battalion. Because Longshot was gone, and so was Charger, and Echo, and Atlas. He recited their names, trying to stay in the present. “Cody?” he asked.
“I’m here, sir.” The man was right next to him. Obi-wan turned his head to look as his arm was drawn over the clone commander’s shoulders.
With the support of both Cody and Anakin, Obi-wan was pulled up-right. His eye began to roll back in his head, and he knew he wasn’t going to make it. He fought it. “Anakin, you have to go.”
“I know, Master, we’re leaving,” Anakin said in his ear. “Master Piell told us everything Dooku said.”
They began helping him to limp forward, and Obi-wan couldn’t help the low whimper that escaped his chapped lips. The pressure on his shoulders, their arms around his torso for support that made his ribs feel like they were grinding together, the furnace of pain overtaking his legs—
Obi-wan passed out again.
“He’s moving again.”
“Is he conscious this time?”
“Not sure yet. General Kenobi, sir, can you hear me?”
Obi-wan groaned. He was lying on a hard surface, with something soft under his head, and it felt like every nerve in his body was firing some kind of pain alarm. Cracking his eye open, he tried to get his bearings.
The first thing he registered was red. Red light. The ground was moving, and he could see handholds overhead. A ship. He was on a ship, probably a LAAT gunship. There were clones around him. That meant that somehow, they’d gotten out of the Citadel. And he was alive.
“Anakin!” He tried to sit up, but two sets of hands kept him down. He realized that a good portion of him had been braced, and he was not going to be doing much moving. “Master Piell, Ahsoka, the coordinates? Is everyone—?”
“We’re here!” Ahsoka called. Though he couldn’t see her, Obi-wan knew Anakin would be nearby. But was he injured? Anakin’s face was often one of the first things Obi-wan saw when he was injured. Unless his former apprentice wasn’t able to--
“Calm yourself, Obi-wan,” a familiar soothing voice said. The speaker stepped around to crouch on Obi-wan’s good side. The kel dor reached out a clawed hand to comfort the young Jedi Master but ended up hovering, as if unsure where to actually touch him. “Anakin and Ahsoka are safe. We have the coordinates.”
Obi-wan sighed in relief. “And Master Piell?”
There was a beat of silence. Plo Koon’s face had always been harder to read due to his mask, but there was no mistaking the solemnity that settled there. Obi-wan knew the answer before the other spoke.
“How?” he asked. His voice, worn and ragged from screaming, reminded him of Master Piell. So would the fact that Obi-wan's eye—
“I do not yet know,” Plo said gently, “but he was not there at the rendezvous point. The pursuit of the Separatists was quite formidable. Ahsoka has assured me that he gave her the coordinates before he passed into the Force.”
Obi-wan would have nodded if he could. Instead, he was forced to remain stiff.
“Sir, he’s going to need a lot more bacta than what we have on board here.,” said one of the clones that was fiddling around Obi-wan.
“I will let the medics there know to prepare,” Plo Koon said. He stood and moved to one side, allowing the medics to get at Obi-wan without interference.
The medics began talking over his head, speaking in rapid shorthand. Occasionally, they would speak to him directly, letting him know what they were doing and if –and where—they were going to touch him.
“Orbital socket and plantar regions are the most obvious wounds. Reduced oxygen intake secondary to suspected nondisplaced rib fractures of seven and eight.” Obi-wan stopped breathing at a featherlight touch to his right side, resuming only after the pain evened out. “Suspected displaced break of nine and ten. Sir, we can’t run a deep scan until we are in a fully-equipped medbay. I’m going to feel down your arms and legs to check for a break, is that alright?”
Obi-wan remained silent while they lightly poked at his limbs, checking his wrists and ankles where the cuffs had dug into the thin, delicate skin. Contusions, abrasions, lacerations, electric burns… the list of things to be checked and treated continued to grow, but Obi-wan found himself drifting again. He didn’t want to hurt anymore. It would be so much easier to endure if he could just succumb to the blackness waiting for him.
“General, try to stay with us. We’re going to take care of you.”
“I know,” Obi-wan murmured. “That’s why it’s safe to rest.”
“Try to stay awake, sir. We’re going to transfer you to a stretcher and get you to the medbay.”
Obi-wan tried not to move. It hurt when he did, and yet his discomfort constantly convinced him that if he could shift just right, maybe the pain would ease. His muscles twitched in response as he warred with his body. He realized he must have missed the ship’s landing, and the door of the LAAT was open. When had that happened…?
“Obi-wan. Hang on.”
He could hear Anakin’s voice, but he couldn’t see him. His former apprentice sounded stressed, but Obi-wan was being surrounded by medics, who wheeled a hover stretcher beside him. It looked to be a long way up from his current position.
“Sir, if you can, lift your knees and brace your heels on the floor. One at a time, that’s it.”
Obi-wan did so slowly. Bracing his heel on the ground was agony. Tears pricked at his eye, and to his horror the other prickled too, increasing the irritation that he was trying so hard to ignore. The thought of touching his second foot to the floor made him balk.
“I—I can’t.”
“Run a scan on his spine,” one of the secondary medics said. “If he’s able to sit up maybe we can—”
“Wait,” Anakin said abruptly. “The Force might be safer right now.”
“Can you support everything evenly?” one of the medics asked curiously.
Obi-wan tried to flatten his leg back out. In the process, his heel dragged across the ground, scraping at flaps of skin and burned edges. Fireworks of white blossomed in his vision, and Obi-wan gratefully vanished into the painless refuge of unconsciousness.
The sound Obi-wan had made when Anakin Force-lifted his inert body onto the stretcher haunted Anakin. It was pain, release, and relief, all rolled into one exhale. He was so pale beneath the results of Dooku’s treachery. Anakin’s master was quickly lost to his sight as the medics surrounded the hover stretcher, practically running to the medbay. Anakin trailed behind, Ahsoka at his side.
Anakin watched from across the room as the medical team ran scans, wiped away blood, and gathered materials. He’d listened to the stream of terms the medics used, adding to the list in his head: compacted carpal bones, transient partial paralysis of left leg, and something about putting in a conformer.
Even unconscious, Obi-wan had flinched away from the medics’ touch during its placement.
Awake, he screamed.
Anakin swallowed thickly as Obi-wan cried out. It was a broken sound, a mere echo of previous suffering. Anakin gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles were white. He tried to reach out with the Force in a desperate attempt to soothe his former master, but Obi-wan’s shields were strong enough Anakin didn’t want to force his way in.
They’d begun stitching the cuts on Obi-wan’s feet next. Anakin knew it was to help the bacta heal things correctly, but the sounds Obi-wan made were too much. Anakin had to leave.
By the time Anakin came back from a cursory report to the Council, they’d gotten Obi-wan into the bacta tank. Seeing his injuries in full made Anakin want to throw up. He’d sat shakily in a chair by the door and hadn’t moved since.
It would be some time before Obi-wan could be removed from the tank. Anakin knew that, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave. The Jedi ran a hand through his hair, tugging at a handful of it before letting go.
Force, his eye doesn’t look any better.
If he could call it an eye. Eye socket? Anakin rubbed his hands together, then pulled off his gloves. He flexed his hands, watching the cybernetics. They could do amazing things with technology, he knew. But replacing an eye? Would Obi-wan be able to see through it? Anakin put his head in his hands.
He would make sure Obi-wan got the best replacement there was. If the Jedi funds could not, or would not, cover it, Anakin would go to Chancellor Palpatine. They would get the best glass eye they could find. But if Obi-wan’s feet did not heal, if he couldn’t walk… Anakin didn’t know what they would do. Cybernetics were a possibility, but he refused to think any further about what that would require.
“Are you alright, General?”
Anakin turned to the door. It was Master Koon’s commander.
“I’m fine,” he said numbly, eyes swinging back to the tank where Obi-wan was submerged. Unconsciously, he began to wring his hands. He wished, in a flash of anger, that Dooku had been in that room when Anakin and his team had shown up.
“The glass is more comfortable than it looks,” the clone commander said suddenly, “and General Koon says the Force will help him adjust to losing the visual field more quickly.”
Anakin’s eyes were drawn to Wolffe’s eye, with its gray pupil and the scar that intersected it as it ran across the clone’s face. The commander met his gaze, quietly allowing Anakin to stare.
“Does it ever still hurt?” Anakin asked, thinking of the occasional phantom pains from his arm.
“The medics will talk to both of you about enucleation,” Wolffe said quietly. “The surgery they did on his eye,” he clarified, likely seeing the incomprehension on Anakin’s face. “The pain will not be bad as long as he follows the instructions they give.”
Anakin nodded. “The surgery,” he began hesitantly. “Is that why he was screaming? Was he awake?”
Commander Wolffe shook his head. “I can’t tell you that,” he said frankly. “But General Kenobi will pull through.”
Anakin looked away. “How do you know that?” He was unable to keep the resentment out of his voice. He didn’t want platitudes.
“We’ve worked with him before,” Wolffe replied. His tone was matter-of-fact, and if he noticed Anakin’s anger he didn’t acknowledge it. “And Master Koon speaks very highly of him.”
Anakin’s irritation vanished as rapidly as it had come. “He’s a good man. A good Jedi.” His head dipped as he leaned his forearms on his knees. “He doesn’t deserve this,” he added softly.
“They never do,” Wolffe agreed. He held out a small piece of flimsi, waiting for the Jedi to take it.
“What is this?” Anakin asked, taking the scrap. The small piece was folded over once.
“Those are the drops I use on my eye,” Wolffe said stiffly. “They are the ones I recommend for the General.” He saluted. “Apologies for interrupting, sir.”
“Thank you,” Anakin said. He didn’t watch the commander walk away. Instead, he tucked the flimsi into his pocket and faced the bacta tank once more. Obi-wan floated in the gelatinous liquid, oblivious as he slept through the healing process.
Anakin hoped the sleep was dreamless.
“Do you hear him?” Dooku asked, leaning in close to Master Piell. “Do you hear his screams? His suffering? Do you feel no guilt?”
Obi-wan’s voice was naught but a rasp. Blinking felt inordinately wrong now, as his left eyelid slid over mostly-empty space. Breathing required effort with his arms pulled overhead for so long, and his ribs protested violently with each inhale. The droids had cycled back to electric shocks by now. Exhaustion had soaked deep into his bones, but still his muscles were forced to dance by the insistent electricity.
“Leave him alone,” Obi-wan gasped. The words caught in his throat, sharp as glass.
“Hs suffering could be to death,” Dooku warned Piell.
“And will the rest of your alliance approve of this method?” Piell growled. “If they find out, how many will still stand with you?”
“More than you think,” Dooku said, fixing the alignment of his long sleeve. “The Jedi Order’s sight has grown short indeed if it cannot perceive the changing opinions of the galaxy. You are no longer the heroes of the Republic you once were.” The count turned deliberately away from Piell, wandering in Obi-wan’s direction as another long stream of electricity blasted through his frame.
“You are not heroes,” Dooku said softly, looking into Obi-wan’s tired eyes. “Heroes don’t make things worse.”
Obi-wan woke with a small start and an aborted groan. He felt sore, as if he’d been doing endless katas. He felt slightly sticky, and everything smelled like bacta. He was on a bed, he realized, with clean sheets. He exhaled slowly, feeling the wrap arounds his ribs loosen slightly as he did. He opened his eye.
“Master?”
Obi-wan turned his head, realizing Anakin was sitting on his bad side. He had to turn his head more than usual. The motion made him realize how sore his neck was. But he was alive, and so was Anakin.
“You’re safe,” Obi-wan whispered.
“Of course I am, Master.”
“Wasn’t sure,” Obi-wan whispered. “Dooku was trying to—”
“You sound awful,” Anakin interrupted. He ignored Obi-wan’s frown and scooted forward so Obi-wan didn’t have to crane his neck so far. “Dooku was trying to lure me in, I know. Master Piell told us, remember?”
Obi-wan didn’t at first. He had been semi-conscious when Anakin had arrived to rescue him. But he did remember pieces, mostly from the gunship. He met Anakin’s attentive gaze, searching his face.
“How did he die?” The words were barely audible, but Anakin heard them.
“Anooba,” the younger Jedi said. “They sent anooba to track us down after we got out of the Citadel. The terrain around the place was harder than I thought it was going to be. We almost didn’t find Tarkin and the others from Master Piell’s original group, but we did. Sobeck and the anooba found us shortly before Master Koon arrived.”
“Ahsoka?”
“She’s fine,” Anakin said. He reached out brushed some of the hair from Obi-wan’s forehead. “She saved Tarkin’s skin and Piell was able to give her the information before he passed.”
Obi-wan’s lips twitched into a faint smile. The girl could handle herself, and though she had taken on some of Anakin’s more impulsive habits, she was also capable and intelligent, with opinions and thoughts of her own. She was going to be a wonderful Jedi. Unable to make his voice form the words, he tried to project it into the Force, hoping Anakin would understand.
“I’m proud of her, too,” Anakin said. His fingers still carded through Obi-wan’s hair, and Obi-wan closed his eye.
“The medics say you’re recovering well,” Anakin continued. “Your feet improved a lot in the bacta, though they aren’t sure how much sensation you’ll get from them yet. The burns, cuts, and lighter bruises are much better too. You’re going to be alright. We’ll get you the best glass eye there is.”
A gruff face filled Obi-wan’s mind, its ropy scars hiding the kindness beneath. “The scars are a reminder to me,” Even Piell had said.
Obi-wan caught Anakin’s hand, squeezing it gently with the slightest shake of his head.
“It’ll be fine,” his former apprentice said. “No one will even be able to tell. Don’t worry about the credits. I’m sure—”
Anakin didn’t understand. Obi-wan shook his head more insistently. “No,” he rasped.
“You don’t want a replacement?” Anakin asked. He couldn’t have sounded more surprised if Obi-wan had told him that he knew about his relationship with Padme.
Well, maybe not that surprised.
“The medics told me there’s a conformer in the socket right now,” Anakin said slowly. “It’s kind of a place holder, but… it’s not meant to be a long term thing. What if you feel differently about a replacement when it’s taken out?”
“If that happens,” Obi-wan managed.
“Then you’ll deal with it,” Anakin finished. He smiled sheepishly. “I know. I just… I want to help. The medics told me some of the things that happened to you, and—” The boy’s face—because he was still a boy, really—contorted before his face dropped.
Obi-wan watched as Anakin wrestled with his emotions. All he could do was squeeze his former apprentice’s hand.
“Master Piell said you gave Dooku almost as good as you got,” Anakin said. He sniffed, forcing a smile. “His words. Sounds to me like you were just being a sarcastic pain in Dooku’s neck.”
Obi-wan laughed, bracing his ribs with one hand when it hurt. The movement also made him realize his feet were heavily bandaged. When he tried to flex his toes, there was a pulling sensation. Pins and needles shot up his legs.
“Obi-wan?”
He couldn’t answer Anakin. Couldn’t speak through the ripple effect of pain traveling up and down his body. A tear rolled down his cheek, and Obi-wan reached to wipe it away when Anakin caught his hand again.
“Don’t touch it,” he said anxiously. “I know you’re hurting. It’s alright. Breathe with me, master, nice and slow.” His metal fingers gently ran through Obi-wan’s hair until the older Jedi’s pain eased.
Obi-wan slowly uncoiled the tension from his joints. He felt heavy with fatigue.
“You can sleep,” Anakin told him. “It’s probably for the best.”
Obi-wan wanted to tell him that he was just fine, thank you, but it felt so nice to just lay there. Anakin was right. The less he moved, the less he hurt.
Obi-wan didn’t want to think about Dooku, or the Citadel, or the fact that another Jedi had passed into the Force. He didn’t want to think about Dooku’s offer, or relive the abuse doled upon him, or think about how long it would take to recover. He didn’t want to think about the war, or politics, or Sith.
It would all be waiting for him when he awoke.
Sleep was a temporary mercy.