JEDI // *knight. @maesterkenobi - Tumblr Blog

mynameisanakin:

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{before}

It makes Anakin momentarily pleased to have at least given Obi-Wan a laugh with his ridiculous assessment that, given the circumstances, it wouldn’t be utterly shocking if there was nothing but sand and ice here, somehow. Even if it doesn’t feel ridiculous to Anakin. Still feels totally possible, maybe even likely. It’s just also funny, he has to admit. And it’s always good to feel even a little amusement from Obi-Wan, better to hear it.

Maybe not always, he does have the tendency to be a bit hypersensitive regardless of being genuinely certain that Obi-Wan wouldn’t mean it like that if he found something humorous when Anakin hadn’t meant it to be. When Obi-Wan has found something humorous that Anakin did not mean to be. Because of course there are valid reasons, and of course he wouldn’t mean it to be cruel, and of course Anakin recognizes that he sometimes says, thinks, posits, and reacts to things in…peculiar, Anakin Ways that he supposes he can objectively find some amusement in sometimes too.

But what if Obi-Wan did mean it that way? Even a little? Anakin has supposed in the past that he’d have to just go die somewhere, he wouldn’t be able to live with having his Master intentionally, cruelly, teasing him. And since it’s that serious a matter, it’s one of those probably ridiculous things he dwells on, spurred on by the reality that he hasn’t always been aware when other people are being facetious, a crushing awareness of Otherness, and the deep seated need to have Obi-Wan’s approval and affection.

He isn’t worried about that at the moment. In fact, if it were not for freezing, being concerned about Obi-Wan freezing, and feeling substantially less than good, he wouldn’t be especially worried about much of anything. Without being prodded into fixating on something else worrisome, anyway. It certainly isn’t a normal state for him, but it’s rather a nice feeling to not have a thousand thoughts a minute with the vast majority of them circling back to the same set of fears going by different names. Really nice, having this incessant busyness in his own mind and the multiple high-speed lines of irritation and distress it tends to run along quieted, slowed. Ignorable.

Very possible that this is a huge portion of how weirdly pleasant Anakin keeps sounding around his moments of concern about Obi-Wan. Like nothing is at all amiss, nor is it even normal, considering what normal is for them anymore. Like he’s on some vacation he assuredly hasn’t ever been on.

Maybe he is.

Maybe he’d like to stay on vacation forever now that he’s discovered it.

He starts to say something-no doubt commentary on the situation again-but before Obi-Wan’s look of concern or accompanying words reach him, he’s aware that they are coming and incapable of finishing whatever aloud thought he was having. They poke sharply at his lack of concern, make him hesitate considerably in answering. Stuck between the duality of maybe I should be concerned if Obi-Wan is worried and I’ve obviously never been better in my entire life, it’s fine, and if it isn’t, I’ll insist on it until it’s the reality because it has to be.

Wants to say that of course, he remembers they were going to meet up with Shaak Ti on Shili, yes. Certainly. Just didn’t for a moment there, that’s all, completely remembers now.

Can’t quite make himself shovel that much bullshit at the moment, and definitely not in Obi-Wan’s general direction. Partially because, in his opinion, he feels this isn’t very affectionate, partially because he will never stop feeling like Obi-Wan just knows when he is being less than truthful. Even if Anakin has an uncomfortably growing mountain of evidence to the contrary, or that Obi-Wan will at least leave the untruths unspoken of. And then there’s just the amount of effort necessary to put forth a remotely convincing lie, then to deal with feeling guilty about it. He really can’t right now. So, something in between, then. Enough truth, enough not quite lie.

”Were we? I might…remember some of that. Something about Master Shaak Ti, anyway.”

To add to his less than confident assertion of this, that’s a pretty easy recollection to have regardless of its truth. Maybe he just thinks he loosely recalls it because it’s only just been said to him, maybe he just thinks it because there are a handful of Jedi his life tends to take place around anymore, and Shaak Ti is one of them. Meeting any one of them is, as such, incredibly likely to be a part of whatever they were supposed to be doing. On the upside, Anakin does, for certain, know who the Togruta Master is, and doesn’t sound at all surprised, so that’s almost certainly a good thing. Apparently, his memory has a rough cutoff point sometime before the mission, and that’s also probably a good thing; he has enough strange little holes in his recollection of events as it is, this could quickly become nightmarish if layered.

The situation is somewhat similar a few moments that feel like a very long time later, when he goes from worrying about Obi-Wan to worrying about answering him again.

Initially dubious about whether he really would ask for help or not, with the continued, profound obliviousness to the irony there. Still more relieved than he would like to fully accept just to hear Obi-Wan say that he would do so, and so, the fitful internal struggle to not be. To not allow minor relief to happily dive into the massive pool of all things Unworried. Before that’s made an irrelevant problem, with Obi-Wan moving to draw his robe up to better shelter his face, reaching out his other hand for Anakin’s arm.

In his damningly sluggish current perception, the expedience of getting out of the ship and away from it having been the last remainder of anything otherwise, it seems like maybe this is a bad thing. Maybe Obi-Wan has actually hit some unexpected patch of ice in just the right way to be sliding about and is grabbing for purchase. Though, nothing in the speed of the movement or Obi-Wan’s face seems to imply that, and Anakin had, he is now aware, been watching his face, so he supposes he’d notice.

Why…was he doing that? Looking into the wind, letting it sting his eyes, so he could…stare at his Master’s face? Oh, that’s right, his ice-glazed beard had caught his attention, though exactly when he couldn’t say. It’s just noticeable, this difference of a crystalline appearance that alters the color just so, catches the incredibly lacking light of the overcast sky here and there as he speaks. It had made Anakin go off on some absentminded sort of thought-weaving about beards.

Two, specifically; the one only one present and the one decidedly not present. A not new topic in the spiderwebbing style of his thoughts, as it’s a weird point of interest, minor ire, and curiosity. And has been two of those things for years, increasing in point of fixation without any coincidence upon his Master growing one. Became something of a subconscious qualifier of a good many things about being a proper Jedi, very likely a proper man too, also without any coincidence. And then, the rather mortifyingly obvious failure to follow suit and the somewhat petulant ire brought about by it. Because of course, Anakin has taken an inability to grow a proper beard as a personally reflective sort of failing. As unneeded evidence of inherent personal failure and glaring difference. Even if he’s now sure it would have just annoyed him, as the scraggly, patchy thing that did grow was incredibly annoying…it’s still one of those many unspoken points of his intense self-judgment.

And still a point of very unspoken interest in, sometimes near fascination with, Obi-Wan’s beard. Specifically. They are deeply unappealing if they’re not on Obi-Wan’s face. Bring to mind only what might be trapped within them but also the prickling irritation of being naturally denied something he doesn’t actually want, but that seems to be a very minor piece of human normalcy. But Obi-Wan’s is…different. Neater, somehow always manages to look freshly groomed no matter what has gone on, nothing to put one in mind of hidden away collections of crumbs or even some small creature’s nesting space. More of that intriguing color, like his hair, that has also never really stopped being rather novel to Anakin. But maybe the visual interest is most wrapped up in exactly what he had been trying to do in the moments before Obi-Wan had more immediately, tangibly caught his attention. Rather, what he had been trying not to do, for the millionth time; to not reach over and touch it. Because the visually apparent texture is something that begs to be confirmed or denied, better defined in how it looks at once both soft and coarse. And now, with the ice, he really can’t help but wonder how that would feel too. How it would feel to touch it, how it would feel to have a fine layer of ice on his face over a layer of hair.

He doesn’t do it.

Probably would have been able to continue to fight against being so profoundly bizarre as to reach out and touch the beard. Definitely isn’t struggling now, with forgetting all about it rather instantly in the momentary concern of Obi-Wan falling, realizing he isn’t, and ending up with the combination of a hand up his sleeve and questions he doesn’t want to answer…again.

The answer is yes…the answer is also, preferably, no.

And here it is, Anakin has run right back into the same problem; intense desire to lie, equally intense desire not to. A strange mire of fears he can’t leave off either entirely or…ever, and a similarly impossible to shirk compulsion toward honesty. And an even more impossible desperation for affection, that very much factors in here. It’s genuinely appreciated that this care has been expressed, even if his immediate impulse is to brush it off for the sake of a long expired sense of safety through pretense of having nothing wrong.

There is no such impulse to brush off Obi-Wan’s hand. A thing that exists in too light a weight and the perfect meeting of logical awareness and a similar deduction through the Force. Not in any additional chill or stubborn, remaining warmth of life in the hand within his sleeve, but at least he can say that it’s due to the thick obstruction of shirt and the glove it is tucked into at the moment. Can easily pretend that he wouldn’t still have trouble clearly discerning temperature if that wasn’t so.

Completely ignorable as he draws closer to Obi-Wan. Or maybe it isn’t so ignorable, somewhere too deep for the conscious grab ahold of while seeking out a more sensorily obvious connection. Whichever, Anakin has, in his hesitating silence in which the howl of the wind is Obi-Wan’s only answer, gotten close enough to sandwich the hand on his arm between them and have the dim warmth of considerably more of Obi-Wan against his side.

It’s extremely nice. He begins to have a thought about simply digging a pit in the snow and curling up around Obi-Wan to feel warm and more comfortable while they both freeze to death. Shuts himself up by opening his mouth, finally.

“Mm…problem is a little…severe. I just hate the cold.”

As though he needs to announce that already well-known fact, like it’s escaped Obi-Wan’s attention for the last decade and a couple of years that Anakin loathes the cold has never seemed to get any better about it. As though his dead silent lack of an immediately forthcoming answer was not a much better one in and of itself than what he has given. As though he can simply leave that alone and hide from Obi-Wan by being pressed against…Obi-Wan.

For a few seconds, he can, and does. Returning to his silence with plenty of unsaid things palpably hanging around in the frigid air. Until it comes out in a tone, as well as a certain sort of rapidity, that heavily implies he cannot stop himself.

“Yes,” he sighs, more visibly than audibly with the wind, in annoyance with either himself or the situation, probably both. “It’s a problem, but I don’t see what it matters. So, it isn’t really a problem, is it? It’s fine, really. It hasn’t killed me before, Master, it won’t now either. Not the cold, I assume that probably is a big possibility right now. I meant…”

His fingers begin fidgeting again. Quickly moving back and forth against each other, like trapped little animals so distressed with their situation that they’ve begun to fight uselessly. An unquestionable external sign of Anakin’s internal distress, the struggle of finding the correct words that are not those words exactly, or anything too close to them about pain or struggling or having a problem.

They keep up their pace even as he gives up the pursuit of words he knows exist that would be nothing short of ideal for dancing around the topic satisfactorily. Clearly oblivious that he’s doing so, as he most often is when such things are confined to the insides of his sleeves or short-lived enough. If it occurred to him that there isn’t any way that Obi-Wan cannot feel such a rapid, consistent movement with his hand on his arm as it is, it’d stop more abruptly than his answer had.

“I meant the other things. That you said. They are not going to kill me.” And that obviously makes it irrelevant to Anakin, and again, says infinitely more than he is.

Likely, more than he is capable of saying on the matter in so direct a way. That if he isn’t in any immediate danger of actually dying from it, it’s not really a legitimate issue if something is painful, even if it’s a lot more than just painful. And maybe he is mostly convinced in a logical sort of way that it isn’t making something non-lethal into a deadly dangerous situation if he complains about it bothering him physically, might be aware that such statements and confessions are not going to be grounds for punishment or loss or something as good as execution, but…it’s at least something annoying. A problem, and that’s as bad. Perhaps worse. Because it’s one thing to annoy Obi-Wan when being teasing and playing, or when it’s absolutely necessary to some point that has to be made or he’ll combust with it, but a whole other to just be an annoyance. Sooner or later, there will be something sufficient to make Obi-Wan go away, he’s really quite certain of it. And now he doesn’t have to be close to Anakin, can choose to only work together when ordered to do so, only interact when necessary.

It would be better if he wasn’t simply outright annoying by default, was not an excessive complication, or any more disappointing than he has to be. That way he can delay what he feels is inevitable.

“At least my head doesn’t hurt as bad…or my face, that I can’t feel anymore.” His tone is playful, or rather, the effort is made to sound that way again. Between the wind and the subject matter, he may be failing at it. “I think I said that before…never mind. Master, can you feel your face?”

Looking over at Obi-Wan again is a lot more pleasant this time, without so much space between them-as if it were that much to begin with-he’s not immediately squinting against the howl of the wind and snow blowing into his eyes and naked face. Anakin’s expression can actually exist for more than roughly one half of a second, and it is presently one of quizzical amusement, even if a bit stifled and stiff.

“You know, because…” His flesh hand emerges from its sleeve, mostly, long enough to make an unnecessary, but obviously intended to be humorous, gesture over the bottom part of his own face indicating Obi-Wan’s beard.

Like many things, it’s acceptable to joke about it if under the, likely erroneous, impression that Obi-Wan is unaware of any potentially underlying truth of the matter. That it might be something upsetting to him, hurtful, frustrating, any number of negative emotions. Particularly acceptable when also desirous of saying anything that might prove a distraction from whatever topic he’d like to avoid more immediately, that he feels is too exposed and inescapable.

Too exposed like his organic hand with his gesturing. How is it possible that it has felt numb nearly instantly, in that weirdly hot on the surface sort of way, yet now feels horrifically cold outside of his oversized sleeve? He would suppose it is due to consciously being aware that it is outside of his sleeve, if he could be bothered to think on it long enough…but he really can’t be. It’s just got to be fixed and immediately so. Consequently, it finds its way not back into the sleeve from which it emerged, but rather to worming its way between the arguably negligible warmth of their bodies that Anakin keeps trying to press more closely, more consistently, together. A thing that would be easier if not for walking. A thing that would also be easier if not for his less than perfectly straight walking, specifically.

As it is, he is repeatedly bumping into Obi-Wan, having the peculiar desire to laugh about it, not laughing about it, recovering from the urge, going for approximately three minutes at most without bumping, and then repeating the process over again. At least it is softly bumping, as there is little option for doing otherwise with being against Obi-Wan as he is, and he’s forgotten about the distress of having to honestly answer anything about the cold hurting. These are plusses, one must grasp them as they come, and even when unaware he’s doing it-perhaps especially so then-Anakin has always been possessed of a certain sort of optimism this way; he definitely takes what he can get.

Anakin can return to feeling ridiculously assured that it isn’t noticeable that he is answering Obi-Wan’s question more truthfully and fully without words in so many ways. With every bump into Obi-Wan there is marked rigidity that could just be the cold, could just be Anakin braced against the wind in an automatically stiffened manner, but it is odd that it happens to be so specifically the right side that he is holding in so unmoving a manner. And increasingly, suspiciously, so the longer their unaided, metaphorically blind trek in the cold continues.

He’s as unaware of doing it as he is maintaining a death grip on what he thinks is his own robe, but is actually Obi-Wan’s that he has twisted up in his glove covered, metal fingertips. That, of course, he cannot exactly tell are poking out from the sleeve of his robe just enough to be winding up in Obi-Wan’s instead.

This is not necessarily irregular, especially not in his being oblivious to doing it, insofar as abusing the insides of his robe sleeves goes, which is assuredly what he believes he is doing. But it’s not just that it’s Obi-Wan’s robes, more than abnormal enough, but also that it is such a divergence from the slow, meticulous, almost soft destruction of his own clothing, unfortunate seams on furniture, and even bits of his starfighter’s controls; it’s obvious. Anakin is glaringly obvious about some things beyond any personal capacity to hide or downplay fast enough, but his fidgeting in all of its forms, and for all of their reasons, has always been undergone as though he might find some way to do it so quietly, slowly, unnoticed that it ceases to be something anyone can notice at all. It’s ludicrous, but it’s got a certain air of Anakin Logic to it that blatantly latching onto fabric like every life in the entire galaxy depends on keeping it is decidedly lacking.

There would be other answers in this same vein, if they weren’t things that utterly vanished in comparison, were quite literally unseen, or that fell too hard in the possibility of being related only to the other factors present. The cold itself and the head injury are the easiest explanations for the less than smooth shivering and his stark paleness, particularly framed as his face is by his dark hood and bruising, or the tightly clenched jaw. It’s not untruth, but there is a determinedly unspoken contributing factor to these things as well.

Impressively determined, considering the unusual carelessness he keeps sliding into otherwise. The bumping into Obi-Wan and seeming to wish to adhere himself to his side rather blatantly when not doing so, the obliviousness to the majority of his actions that more clearly denote misery than any more typical abject bitching could possibly have. Again, without a doubt due to the strange, drug-induced duality of not being capable of maintaining that much care toward such things while simultaneously fixating on the determination that he is, clearly, Master, fine.

Just fine. Perfectly fine. Would he be teasing about facial hair if he was anything other than fine? Obviously not!

“Is it getting less steep?” He asks, bumps into Obi-Wan once again. Doesn’t have the desire to snicker about it this time though because he’s wiggling his left hand into both of their sides with a fervor that suggests he’s just re-noticed how much warmer it is below Obi-Wan’s ribs. “Or am I just getting used to it?”

There is muttering, lost to the wind except for the mismatched tones of something sarcastically sing-song and absent-mindedly thinking aloud. Lost to Anakin himself because that is exactly what he had been doing, muttering some fraction of a, probably, hopefully, unimportant thought aloud. It quite possibly contained the words ‘sleep,’ ’nose,’ ‘bantha,’ and ‘fucker’ however. Maybe it was actually ‘bantha-fucker.’

“I mean it’s…I think it’s leveling off. Maybe the wind will be-maybe there will be a something up here to block the wind.”

His fingers fidget about more noticeably once more, wildly for a moment, both sets of them. Almost enough to make him turn loose of Obi-Wan’s outer robe, almost, but it continues to escape only his attention, not his physical grasp. He’s compulsively wanting to make various useless gestures, somewhere between gesticulation and explanation…of nothing, as he certainly doesn’t need to explain that he means quite literally anything when he says ‘a something.’

Anything would be acceptable, any of the possibilities that seem deeply improbable to him at the moment; reaching a tree line of some sort, large rocks. The absolutely impossible but really nice to fantasize about home or an entire city that is simply just invisible somehow five inches in front of his red, numb nose. A nice cave system that is filled with non-lethal gas producing thermal vents, that’d be perfectly fine too. Giant, dead ice-beast carcass. One so large it almost is a mountain, frozen for all eternity in the perfect position to block the weather for a few hours of this misadventure, he’ll take that too. Not like it would smell out here in the ice, after all, so it’s alright. Oh, hell, they could maybe even cut away some of it with their lightsabers and eat it, because actually, he might be a tiny bit hungry now that he’s sort of thinking on it. Definitely would not be the nastiest thing he’s ever eaten, he’s certain of it. And Obi-Wan could complain about it being the nastiest thing ever, and he could act like it was nothing short of an amazing delicacy even if he wanted to gag.

And Anakin is unaware of yet another thing in his growing list of things that will mortify him to become aware of doing; at some point in their ascent, he’s begun a flickering broadcast of sorts through the Force. Except, of course, with Anakin and the Force, a flicker might as well be an orbital bombardment most of the time, and there is no way that strange little bits of his frozen, hurting, inarguably high, never quite right to begin with, lunacy haven’t hopped right on over to Obi-Wan. In one way or another. Be that remarkably loud impressions of equally remarkable weavings of patented foul language here and there, the so-clear-you-may-be-feeling-it-yourself style sensation of how warm he thinks Obi-Wan feels and the vivid fantasy of somehow curling up into his robes with him, or the equally vivid imagery of eating on the frozen-solid carcass of a creature ten times the size of their now departed ship, one that looks vaguely like a kryat dragon, bantha, and tusk cat were spliced together in a laboratory.

Or the intense conflict of answering Obi-Wan, as that happened to be about when Anakin’s already sometimes less than stellar ability to not accidentally Share slipped like it too was trudging about in untold layers of ice and snow. Slipped and fell very hard, didn’t right itself again.

This is his most undeniable answer. This really is an answer, the answer.

The answer is yes.

Yes, I am in pain, and it’s sort of a problem.

Yes, and this is specifically what it feels like; like I can feel every fiber of every bundle of nerves in a quarter of my body and they’re on fire. Like this is no longer an ache, it’s the feeling of a bone shattered to nothing but sharp splinters, and it’s starting to radiate all the way to my jaw. Do you feel it? Like the fingers I technically don’t have are so cold they’re burning, and there’s a fine network of needles across them producing this incredibly irritating, stinging, itch I know I can’t get rid of. Like I know I’ve never been colder in my life, and I know all of this is going to be so much worse before it is better, even if ‘better’ is just dead, but I’d rather do this for three days straight than sound like I’m complaining or having a legitimate problem.

Yes, but it is fine, this is not a novel occurrence by any means, I promise. I honestly don’t remember what not being in pain to some degree feels like, and it makes me happy that you’ve asked because not only have you asked and care, it must mean you are unaware of it and that must mean I have done a good job hiding it from you. I know I’m good at that, but I strongly question how good I am hiding things from you, so that’s relieving to know you’re unaware of how often I want to just scream about something in a way that has nothing to do with being angry.

Yes, but I am infinitely more worried about you, because I love you and it hurts me so much more that you might be even a tiny bit uncomfortable, and it terrifies me that something is actually going to happen to you. And it could. It could, it could. It will. It might now. It might push it to happening if you think we need to slow down or stop or anything at all because of me. I would literally set myself on fire to keep you from freezing, I’m relieved you are unaware of that too.

Yes, but you are so much more important that it defies the ability for any language to capture, but this is the specific feeling associated with both You and Worry Over You. They have always been inseparable feelings. Yes, but I think maybe I love you enough that it hurts more.

Impressions of these things, like navigating a dark room one is relatively familiar with the layout of. Feelings, primarily, unsurprisingly. Of both the emotional sense and more literal, physical sensation. Disturbingly literal clarity of what it feels like to be Anakin at any one of a handful of moments currently. The emotional sensations of wanting to answer and being incapable of it, relief and converse, perpetually underlying fear, all of the impossible enormity of his love and adoration and need. The actuality of how absolutely not fine Anakin’s ‘fine’ is, and the honesty that a great deal of ‘fine’ would be nausea-inducing even to him if it was a remotely new experience. The low-grade dread of the sort that only occurs when someone knows what’s coming, and has had it visit enough times to also know there’s no fighting or hiding or use in doing anything except fashioning a weak buffer from scraps of dread and acceptance. And scattered around the mere impressions and too legitimate feelings, crystal clear snippets of thoughts ranging from wild things about ice-beasts and beard touching to words so formed that he might as well have spoken them aloud.

And Anakin…is concerned about fighting the compulsion to gesture out useless charades pertaining to shelter. Maybe not blissfully unaware of the things he’s doing that would make him want to wander off by himself in the cold to just die already, but something pretty close to it. Especially as he stops caring about his gesturing he has managed to thwart, slides back into a fuzzy, at least metaphorically warm, state of substantially negative fucks to give.

It’s an awful lot of work, fuck giving, it’s really too cold. Besides, Obi-Wan is superior at that as well, so it’s probably better this way.

Anakin’s answer does not exactly spark confidence, neither the words themselves nor the way he delivers them. It wouldn’t be the first time he says something just because he knows it’s what Obi-Wan wants to hear; even if he does it blatantly obvious and fully aware of the fact that Obi-Wan can see right through him because of it. A somewhat contradictory behavior and yet very befitting his relative youth and his complicated character: feigning obedience and acceptance of a superior’s advice while secretly disregarding it in favor of his own ideal solution to a problem; but doing it in a way that not only makes painfully obvious that he’s not sold on said superior’s idea and therefore won’t follow it, but also that he’s quite unapologetic about the whole matter, and any semblance of submission in him only gains a whiff of sincerity when Anakin’s alternative plans turn into failures. Which, in his defense, doesn’t happen often. Which, in turn, is part of the problem (if one wants to call it that). Such a healthy confidence in one’s abilities and intelligence usually does not stem from a history of failure. “I’ll pretend to believe that, for the sake of both of us,” Obi-Wan sighs. The matter of Anakin’s worrisome memory holes is far from off the table, but for the time being it is postponed. Finding shelter and surviving the next 24 hours takes priority, and not only because it demands so with inescapable urgency.

Obi-Wan could choose to believe Anakin’s next words as well, but with these incidents piling up there is a certain necessity not to make a habit out of it. One of the more impressive things about Anakin is his ability to endure pain and discomfort where others would cry and moan; it makes it easier to worry a little less about him. Unfortunately it comes with the significant downside of him always downplaying his suffering, which necessitates a constant watchful eye on him and raises any potential worries at least back up to the normal level. Whether it is because he doesn’t want to be a burden, because he overestimates himself, or because he doesn’t want to appear (or be) weak, to Obi-Wan it’s all the same. A constant battle of wanting to trust Anakin’s self-assessment and worrying that some day this very trust may be Anakin’s downfall.

His fidgeting is noticed, the movement far too rapid and restless to be passed off as accidental, even against the wind blowing through their clothes and the freezing temperatures turning Obi-Wan’s limbs cold and numb. It’s marginally better now that they’re walking closer together with at least one side pressed up against each other to keep what warmth they have left to spare between them. “Not everything is a matter of life and death, Anakin. There are a great many things in between,” Obi-Wan says. His hand is still somewhere under Anakin’s robes but it’s nice and warm there and he doesn’t feel the wish to withdraw just yet. “On the upside, at least we have some options for our potential cause of death. You can’t say it’s ever boring to travel with me.” Not that Obi-Wan would so easily accept death as an option for either one of them, but a little gallows humor has never hurt anyone. Besides, it doesn’t feel like the time to say what he wants to say about what he just learned (what he should have considered much sooner), despite it having felt like the right moment to ask. The very foundation of their relationship tends to add a scolding note to the things Obi-Wan says, even when he doesn’t mean it like that, and right now the wind is so strong it feels as though it would quite literally blow any well-meant advice right into one of Anakin’s ears and out the other. Not to mention that asking Anakin to tell him if any pain he suffers is getting worse would, unfortunately, be rather pointless, considering that he isn’t in any position to offer help. Until they’re out of the snow Obi-Wan has to accept any discomfort his padawan feels as much as his own, with all the consolation he can offer being that it’ll occupy his mind until they’ve found shelter. In a way it is motivating too, the wish to help Anakin and ensure his safety being greater than his own survival instincts. “For what it’s worth, if we don’t find shelter from this storm soon, it won’t matter which parts froze first.”

While his words maintain a lighter tone, a darkness settles over Obi-Wan’s mind. Concern for Anakin’s well-being, concern for what lies ahead, concern for their mission and what may come of it if they don’t make it off this planet in a timely manner. The former takes priority, not only because it is the logical first choice but also because it is closest to Obi-Wan’s heart. It’s never pleasant to think of someone you care about in pain, but in Anakin’s case it’s more than that. To think of him suffering awakes an immediate desire to soothe and console in Obi-Wan, to fix or remove whatever dares to hurt him. It’s more than the wish to see a friend unharmed, it’s a matter of responsibility as well; as the closest thing Anakin has to family, the last link to the past - to the mother he lost and the master he should have had. I will get you out of here, Obi-Wan means to say, but the words don’t make it past his lips. There was a time when it was easier to make these promises, when Anakin was still a boy and he, too, was younger; but somewhere along the way they became something unspoken. Perhaps in the past they needed to be said in order to be true, whereas now their trust in each other no longer requires verbal assurance. Saying it out loud seems unnecessary, but perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps, sometimes, to hear such words is relief in itself. Perhaps he should more often think of Anakin like he used to again.

Before Obi-Wan can consider making promises of any kind, however, Anakin addresses a more prominent issue. Not having seen his face or the Winter Wonderland the blizzard created on it, it takes Obi-Wan a moment to understand the other’s gesture. When he does, a chuckle escapes him and disappears in the wind, sparked by Anakin’s mild but noticeable amusement. “You’d be surprised how warm it gets under there,” Obi-Wan points out, moving his mouth a little which makes a few snow crystals fall from his beard. It feels as if full chunks of ice are stuck in the hair, glueing it together. “But in this wind even that doesn’t help. I'll save my worries for when I do feel my face again.” When the pain sets in before all feeling is lost for good. Luckily, there is still some time until then; though uncomfortable they’re not at their limit yet. Jedi or not, humans are surprisingly resilient.

As they advance up the mild slope they keep bumping into each other, neither of them entirely sure which path to follow in the eternal directionless white ahead. It doesn’t help that Anakin is taller than Obi-Wan, or that he doesn’t seem overly willing to adjust his step in order to make it easier for both of them. It could be annoying, but as it is the somewhat regular bumps and the consequentially arising need to struggle for balance for a second or two keeps Obi-Wan’s attention in the moment and saves him from having his mind drift off into the blurry swirl of white before them. He doesn’t have to do much to stay close since Anakin is holding on to him for dear life, almost as if he’s worried the storm will pull them apart if he lets go. He feels tense and wooden every time they bump into each other and Obi-Wan wonders if the cold is already taking more out of him than he admits. That is, until he’s hit by a feeling that comes from outside himself, but has nothing to do with the wind or the snow. It’s brief and chaotic, not quite a full feeling or thought but too noticeable to be nothing. An impression, a not-quite-decipherable word, a longing, a fear. It’s strange yet familiar, intrusive yet inviting. It’s Anakin. He doesn’t speak and yet he’s loud, his emotions and perceptions like a tremor in the Force that’s wrapped around them like a cloak, creating their own little bubble to.. overshare, it seems.

There is pain, a lot of it, and not the sudden temporary kind. It’s the kind that’s etched into your being, a scar on your bones, a pain so constant it has become part of who you are. Part of who Anakin is. It doesn’t spread onto Obi-Wan like an actual physical thing, more like an imprint, a shadow of an idea. It’s the distress connected to it, the wish to hide it, to be rid of it, to be able to forget about it long enough it actually goes away, that washes over Obi-Wan like a wave of cool water. It’s so much at once; good feelings and bad feelings, half-formed thoughts and some fully-fledged ones, none of which Obi-Wan can say are received by him the same way they’re projected by Anakin. All he can say with certainty is that Anakin most definitely did not intend to let himself be so vulnerable and open.

He calls something into the wind, but Obi-Wan is too distracted by what he feels to hear and understand. Connecting with Anakin through the Force is an instinct he follows without resistance, and it takes away from his ability to respond on a more palpable human level. Like his hand inside Anakin’s robes closing around his arm, his touch firm but not demanding, he reaches out to him with his mind, seeking, anchoring, focusing. Like a touch of the warmth shared between them it seeks to wrap itself around Anakin, slowing his restlessness and guiding him back to the moment.

Don’t think about what can go wrong. Take one step after the other. Think about what you can do, what’s right here with you. Your feet moving forward, your eyes looking ahead. Your hand in mine.

Obi-Wan’s palm slides down Anakin’s arm until it reaches his glove and he takes his hand in his own, their fingers intertwined. It may be the hand that feels less of his touch but it’s also the center of Anakin’s pain and as such the best point on his body to refocus him. For the moment Obi-Wan doesn’t even notice the cold on his fingers. It’s unsettling, to say the least, to be exposed to Anakin’s erratic feelings and distress, and it takes some out of Obi-Wan to not let it affect his own (relative) peace of mind. But the thought of helping him and focusing on him makes it easier; the sense of purpose it brings is a pillar of its own. There is so much Obi-Wan can see and hear that he feels was never meant for him to perceive, but no matter how trivial or silly it seems it only fills him with affection and a pervading conviction that, yes, he is doing the right thing. He has done the right thing, following Qui-Gon’s wish and example, placing his trust in the man at his side, and accepting any plights that come with the responsibility of honoring their bond come what may.

His next thought is not a conscious one, nor one expressed in fully comprehensible words. It’s a sentiment both fleeting and ever-present, a great source of strength and endurance: They are in this together; no matter how bad things may get. They are not alone, neither physically nor in spirit, and even if they should meet their end here, they would do so by each other’s side. But even with several star systems between them they wouldn’t be alone; even after several lifetimes apart Obi-Wan would call this bond his, this love he feels and all that comes with it. It is born from the Force and from human love, a thing so powerful not even death can sway it.

I’m here. I’m here with you.

Suddenly there is a shadow up ahead and in the wall of white an indistinct shape becomes visible. Something tall looming over them, and now Anakin’s words from earlier finally reach Obi-Wan’s conscious mind. It is getting less steep. It could be a wall, a dead end, but even so they have no better option than keep moving until they know for certain. With the ground leveling it becomes easier to walk and either Obi-Wan’s face is so numb he has lost all feeling in it or the wind is actually growing weaker too. They push onwards and the shape grows bigger, until eventually their path is blocked.

In front of them is a high wall of ice and snow, like the foot of a mountain shooting right out of the ground. It seems closed and solid at first glance and Obi-Wan feels his heart sink, until he notices a crevice a few meters away, wide enough for a man to slip through. It’s hard to see and impossible to guess where it leads, or if it even leads anywhere at all, but anything is better than staying out here. At the very least they might find shelter until the storm has passed (given that it ever will pass). “Seems we’re not all out of luck,” Obi-Wan says with optimism returning as they reach the crack in the ice. They have to let go of each other in order to slip through and the warmth of Anakin’s body, however low, is instantly missed. The crevice turns into a tunnel of ice that leads on for a while, until it gives way to a broader cave made of black stone. The ground is still mostly ice and Obi-Wan’s boots fail to get a good grip on the slippery surface. After the howling storm outside it is eerily quiet in the windless cave, and without the cold air biting at every corner of their body it is immediately warmer.

“Well, this could be worse,” Obi-Wan muses as he pushes back his hood, which is covered in chunks of ice that cling to the fabric the same way they do to his beard. “We can rest here and look for signs of civilization once the storm has passed.” He turns back to Anakin, his gaze turning a little softer. “Are you alright?”

#mynameisanakin #p. mynameisanakin #v. holiday on ice #t. stranded

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