Title: Healing
Series: Star Wars Clone Wars
Author: helgaleena
helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Warning: slash content
Archive/Distribution: yes.
Category Slash H/C
Spoilers: Dark Horse Star Wars Clone Wars vol. 2
Summary: Obi-wan nearly killed on a mission, needs help from Anakin to recover fully
Disclaimer: Lucas is the god of Star Wars and owns everything. I am nothing.
Authors Notes-- this fic was inspired by the lovely daojinshi that Blue_Hobbit shared on livejournal.com. Not reading Japanese was a big help.
Obi-wan had been looking so frail since he returned from the mission to obtain the antidote to the plague released by Durge upon the Gungan colonies. Anakin emerged from the fresher, to find that he had fallen asleep waiting for his turn. The lashes of deep red-brown had drifted in perfect crescents onto the cheeks that once were so full and smooth, but now were hollowed and abraded. Yes, the small beard was now neatly trimmed, finer in proportion to the new gauntness of his master's face. That must have been all he had energy for.
Anakin looked down upon his beloved, so serene in sleep, yet seeming as worn as an over-used metal blade. The capable hands were neatly folded over his chest, the clean gi seeming much too large. One did not put on weight during a bacta suspension, which is where he had been for the last two days. He felt as if he towered over this shrunken Obi-wan like a giant.
Despite its thinness, that face appeared petal-smooth from the caress of the bacta. Anakin knelt over the back of the couch, reached out to see if it was as smooth as it looked. How large his hands had become--from thumb to little finger, his one hand covered Obi-wan's smooth brow from temple to temple, without even splaying it. He ghosted thumb and fingertip into the auburn hair at those spots. It was flat and limp from the bacta, but still so silky. He bent lower, to hear the soft breathing, until his padawan braid fell upon his master's shoulder.
Obi-wan had nearly died on this mission, to save the lives of millions of beings at risk from the plague. The other five Jedi masters in the team had not returned. And now here he lay, in their own quarters again, with half his physical presence pared away, yet still beautiful.
And doubly precious to me, he thought. If only I can become the Jedi he is. For all my ability, I know my dedication to the service of other beings falls far short of his. Look at how much he has given this time.
It was sweet to see the touch of the living Force renewing his master as he slept. Anakin decided to aid it as much as he could. He circled the couch in order to kneel by Obi-wan's side, again placing his flesh hand over the sleeping brow, resisting the urge to stroke his hair, letting the Force direct the flow from his vitality to Obi-wan's. His palm heated up as the heightened molecular activity replenished their bond. He thought Obi-wan's respiration quickened, as if he were inhaling the healing currents.
Even emaciated, Obi's face was a symphony of angled planes. His soft exhalations tickled upon Anakin's heated fingers. He found himself slipping his free hand around behind Obi's head, to cradle him between two healing hands. It seemed only natural to bend still closer, just to appreciate the brush of each eyelash upon the jutting cheekbones--
And then he was undone, as Obi-wan nestled his face into the hand's warmth. The unconscious gesture of affection spurred him into returning it. He slipped the pillowing arm farther, so that Obi's face approached his, and kissed those slightly parted lips.
That flavor; he had thought he might never taste it again. He was instantly drunk with it. It took an incredible amount of self posession just to stay perfectly still upon those dreaming lips, not to plunge into them with his tongue, not to suck them ravenously in, but just to mingle breaths with his beloved and to touch-meld their mouths into one.
And eventually, Obi-wan began to kiss back. Still asleep and dreaming, his hand reached up to grasp Ani's wrist, holding the hand in place upon his master's face. He felt like the most fortunate of beings when Obi's mouth opened to his tongue; his breaths were os rapid nowthat he felt as if he were running to meet Obi-wan. Still, he did not disturb the sleeping tranquility by ravishing that mouth, much as he desired it. He merely traced the curve of those lips, smoothed the silky hairs surrounding them, as if he were licking at a sweet. For this was very sweet...
When had he grown so large? His one arm seemed long enough to wrap around Obi-wan twice! His synth hand gathered up the sleeping treasure of him and could rest upon his chest afterward. When had his sturdy master turned so insubstantial? Anakin gathered him still closer, his toes poking out of his bath sandals to brace against the carpeting. He was all ready to deepen the kiss--
--when Obi's eyes fluttered open, and the clinging hand flew away to push at Anakin's chest with surprising forcefulness. A jolt of shock, mind to mind, as his master woke abruptly, unaware of his own body's collusion in the situation moments earlier. A gasp.
"Anakin, what are you doing?" Adrenaline was coursing through Obi-wan now, as he jerked himself upright. But any annoyance was stilled by the look of innocent hurt in his padawan's eyes. Through the confusion of sudden waking he gradually sensed the benign intentions of Anakin.
"I was giving you healing, Master. And you looked so beautiful." That winsome grin usually got a chuckle out of Obi-wan, but not this time. He did not even answer, simply began to rise to go to the fresher. Anakin reached out swiftly, gripping the wrist that had so lately gripped his.
"Please, Master. What is it?"
"Not now, Anakin. Let me go." But as Obi-wan rose, so did Anakin, still gripping his arm. He was considerably more than six feet tall now, and his padawan braid had a long way to fall to reach his chest. His hand though delicately formed, was engulfing Obi's wrist.
"Let me help you."
"You cannot." Obi-wan, though his frame might be gaunt, still had the presence that accompanied his mastery. The green eyes gazing up at him were implacable, but Anakin could sense confusion just under the surface. His master's dreams had disturbed him, and he was not willing to discuss it.
Like twin fragments of the Tatooine sky, Anakin's eyes sought to brighten his master's mood, and failed. He dropped his arm to his side, and let Obi-wan proceed to the fresher.
Then he sank down onto the couch himself, holding his head. Come to think of it, one of his hands covered his own face as easily as Obi-wan's. He felt as if he'd made a mistake, but he couldn't tell what it was. The Force around Obi-wan was not stable; it constituted a further wounding that had nothing to do with the physical body. And somehow, he had made it bleed again.
Obi-wan tried his best to lose himself in the sensations of the spray pouring down upon his body, the time-tested practice of letting all disturbance and tension flow away with the water, to merge again with the Force. But it was not working.
In his mind the images constantly replayed: one of the most beautiful and powerful masters of the era, skewered by Asajj Ventress. She could have healed herself even of that, but instead she sent her remaining life-force to Obi-wan. Because he was the last Jedi standing, the one with the antidote in his pocket. The Force was sometimes cruel that way.
And how to tell his padawan that when he woke just now, he had thought he was kissing Asajj? the beautiful, vicious, totally evil young woman who was doing all this to be accepted as a Sith. The twisted being who could all too easily have been his Anakin, if Qui-gon had never found him.
And then, as he was reaching out to try to untwist that twist, to somehow find forgiveness in himself for the slaughter of millions, to find that he had mistaken Anakin for Asajj--- he raised his helplessly clenching fist to the fresher wall. He knew his padawan was out there, and would hear if he banged the wall. Gods, the Force was being cruel.
Wash it away, he prayed, as he sank to the fresher floor. Wash me away too, if you must. This emotion I cannot handle. Please take it away quickly. And his tears mingled with the spray, his head on the fresher wall.
How many times had he said, "Anakin, you'll be the death of me"-? oh, Force, have I made it come true by the repetition? it was a joke, only a joke-- he did not want even form the thought of what sort of Anakin would deliberately kill him, as Asajj wished to.
"Force, Force, Force," he heard himself mumble, as the tears fell down the fresher drain. Had he doomed his own padawan, his greatest joy? A part of him realized that this made no sense, yet it was tearing his heart apart just the same. He had to let it go. He had to let even his heart go. And he had to let go his self-control, right now. Audible sobs escaped him. It could not be helped. Of course Anakin would hear, how could he not? They were bonded. Force. Force, Force...
As for Anakin, the sound of Obi-wan's sobs was all the permission he needed. Stripping off his sleep tunic and pants on the way, he barged into the fresher and gathered up the crumpled form. "Shhh," he managed, before his lips were much too busy showering Obi-wan with kisses.
The whole picture was entering his mind now, through their bond. Obi-wan had been wrong to hold it back, shocking as it was. He thought I was Asajj?? Fury threatened to take him over, at what she had done to his dear one, and what she had wished to do. No, the only way to rectify anything right now was to stick to what is, not what might have been.
He took Obi's weeping face between his hands, raised those lovely eyes to his. "Obi-wan." He put some Force-command into it. And Obi's eyes blinked clear, and he was quiet.
With all the authority of his long training he spoke, Force-imbuing his words. "You are my Master, and I love you. I--" and he bent his lips to Obi-wan's, "love--" mere millimeters separated them-- "you."
And then he kissed him with all the passion he had held back earlier, while his beloved still slept. Obi-wan fervently received and returned it, letting truth destroy all doubt. This time, his hand upon the flesh of Anakin's wrist pulled closer, with as much strength as he could muster.
For the first time, the master allowed his padawan to lift him, and put him to bed in a nest of bath sheets. Like an infant. Like the most precious thing in the universe, to Anakin.
Eventually the bath sheets were replaced by the long, lean body of Anakin himself. And they rested in the living Force together, becoming whole again.
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