“General Skywalker?”
“Mmhh…”
“General Skywalker.”
“What?”
“You have a meeting, sir.”
“Fuck off.”
“Sir, we’re already. The Council is looking for you.”
“Rex, leave me the kriff alone. That’s an order.”
“Sir- fine.” Footsteps echo away down the hall. Anakin sighs, pushing his face back into his pillow. If it’s the end of the galaxy or something, Obi-Wan will come get him.
This is why you’re locked in here. You hurt all your friends. You hurt Rex. You should never talk to him again.
Thanks, I’m aware. Hence the whole, you know, ‘locking myself in my room’ thing.
You should kill yourself and save them the trouble.
Force. Force kriffing damn it. Anakin had really thought he’d make it to the end of the mission before this hit. He knew it was coming, had been counting the days of functionality as they turned into weeks. Once he’d hit the three-week mark a few days ago, he’d known it was coming.
Obi-Wan knew, too. He suspects that’s why he’d been allowed to joke around with Rex and Fives for longer than usual in the cafeteria last night. Obi-Wan had wanted to talk about a mission the Temple was planning for some new Knights, but instead he’d watched Fives try to find the elusive dark roots of Rex’s hair as Anakin insisted it was natural. Anakin was right, of course.
Nothing could possibly be worth what you’re going through right now.
Oh, suck a bantha dick.
Anakin turns onto his side when breathing becomes difficult, trying not to think about the ache in his legs. It’s psychosomatic, he knows, but that doesn’t make it go away.
Your body is atrophying.
It’s psychosomatic, he knows.
He wishes he could call Rex and apologize, but his fingers are far too heavy to reach the comms. More than that, the sound of someone else’s voice would be so grating right now that he might snap again. Same with showing his face in public or hearing literally any sound that wasn’t the background noise of the ship, so getting food isn’t an option, either. He’s hungry, though.
Like you deserve to eat. Starve yourself until you can be a decent human again.
Anakin doesn’t often feel like a human. When he was young, he told himself that it was because he was special, different somehow. Now, he’s pretty sure he’s just broken. Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, acting like a rabid animal and utterly incapable of loving or being loved.
He tries to think of Padme, but the thoughts all turn sour. In these episodes, the love feels more like obsession, like the stained, polluted pieces of him are reaching out to her, close enough to poison if he lets them get too close. He can’t do that to her. She deserves better.
Then, he’s angry at her for things that never happened. Then, he’s angry that he’s angry. Then, he’s too numb to feel anything for an indeterminate amount of time.
“Master Skywalker?”
Shut your mouth shut your mouth shut your mouth don’t you dare say a word to her, Skywalker. Don’t you hurt that girl.
Ahsoka, please stop talking.
“Master, you missed a briefing. Are you okay?”
Obi-Wan had had to sit her down once and explain to her why Anakin couldn’t be at training that day. His Master had had to tell his Padawan that the man who swore to protect and guide her was too much of a mess to function. She’s too young to be exposed to his bullshit.
“I’m alright, Snips,” he manages, voice tearing his throat on the way out.
There’s a long pause and Anakin zones out again. Then, accompanied by a soft push at their bond, “Master Anakin, you can tell me if you’re having a bad time, you know.”
Suddenly, anger strong enough to taste rushes up from somewhere inside him. Why is she babying him? Who does she think she is? Ahsoka has no idea what she’s talking about, no clue what it’s like to sit in here and fester and know that it’ll never get better-
I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.
“Ahsoka, not now.” There. Not too harsh.
A sigh. “I’m going to get Master Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan. Anakin had felt him pushing at their bond all day, sometimes demanding entrance, other times just pushing calming things at him. A joke Cody told. A memory of Anakin’s apprenticeship. The way a few stars looked like a smiley face as the ship passed them by.
Obi-Wan, out of all the people on this ship, would understand.
Anakin remembers being nine years old and watching Quinlan Vos putter around their quarters, organizing things and talking to Anakin and singing off-key pop songs and sitting next to Obi-Wan for long stretches of time, silent. Anakin remembers Luminara Unduli having ‘grown-up conversations’ with Obi-Wan in his rooms while Anakin did his homework. Anakin remembers the way Obi-Wan suffered and survived and taught him to do the same.
Obi-Wan comes around some time later. It must be near night-cycle now, but Anakin’s not entirely sure. He played a few games on his comms and tried to do some paperwork, but couldn’t focus and ultimately ended up staring at the ceiling.
This time, there’s no knocking or voice, just the click of the keypad and the swish of the door as Obi-Wan lets himself in.
“Anakin.”
“Master.”
“You seem cheerful.” Obi-Wan sits at the edge of his bed, deliberately moving the sheets and uncovering part of his leg. “Another lovely day of solitude.”
“You know me, Master.”
“I do,” he muses. “Go take a shower.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Anakin bristles, sitting up in order to argue properly. “No. I don’t need one.”
“Then come with me to dinner.”
“No.”
“Then you’re going to have to start doing some paperwork, lest I tell Kix your new meds aren’t working.” Obi-Wan stands, crossing the room and grabbing a robe from Anakin’s open closet. He throws it at him. “Let’s go. I’m quite hungry and I don’t want to be late.”
For a moment, Anakin doesn’t think he’ll be able to. He can’t make his hands move, let alone make it to the cafeteria. But Obi-Wan’s right. He can’t stay here forever. Angry or not, he’s got a job to do. He pulls the cloak on.
“Fine. But you have to get my food. I’m not talking to anyone.”