mattlauercansuckit: (Grill me a cheese)
[personal profile] mattlauercansuckit
Okay then, have some Anakin & Obi-Wan doing their Team Fail thing. I also included the angst and hurt/comfort in this batch as well.

Here Are ficlets focused on the war itself.

Here are ficlets focused on Anakin & Ahsoka.

Here are humor/fluff/other ficlets

Here are post-RotS-based ficlets

Title: Back to the Sun
Challenge: SWMININANO2
Prompt: Watto
Word Count: 2433
Characters: Anakin, Watto, Shmi, Obi-Wan
Rating: R
Summary: Expelled from the Order as a Padawan, Anakin returns to his home planet, AU
Author's Notes: I've had this idea percolating for a while. I think this may end up turning into a longer piece. Title/cut-text from "Legally Blonde" from the musical Legally Blonde.


They'd had the foresight to give him new clothing, and a small amount of money. Republic credits, which wouldn't do him any kind of good where they were sending him. He'd shoved it all in his pack, and stood at the boarding ramp of the transport that would return him to whence he came; back to the unforgiving, immovable desert. He felt it, in his heart rather than the Force, waiting for him, calling him back, ready to punish him for ever thinking he could leave in the first place.

Now, finally, Obi-Wan laid hands on his shoulders, looked him in the eye. "Forgive me," he said.

Anakin cast his eyes to the ground, unable to meet Obi-Wan's gaze. Goodbyes were too painful, too final, but he couldn't shake the despairing sense that he and Obi-Wan wouldn't see each other again. "I'm sorry too," he forced out, stiffening as Obi-Wan drew him into a quick embrace.

"Take care of yourself, Anakin," Obi-Wan instructed, holding him at arm's length now, as though memorizing every bit of him.

"You too, Obi-Wan." He tripped on the name, keeping himself from using the familiar title. *Master* was going to go back to the meaning it had always held for him, and he wouldn't use it again until he had no choice. For he had no doubt in his mind that he would, eventually, have no choice. His freedom would last as long as it took to get to Tatooine, and while he would technically remain a free man, no one on that planet was truly out of bondage.

Obi-Wan nodded. The ramp raised. Engines rumbled, and Anakin stared at the closed hatch long after the transport had taken off, leaving Coruscant and his destiny behind.


Tatooine loomed, halo'd, lit from behind by the twin suns now on the far side. Anakin's stomach dropped as the transport shuddered upon atmospheric re-entry, barreling towards the surface of the planet, towards sand and waste and regret.

They set down in Mos Espa, and Anakin found himself alone, very suddenly and very unwantedly, alone, outside of the docking bay. He hadn't thought about much since he'd been given the choice to leave, and "Tatooine" had tripped off his tongue when they'd asked him where he wanted to go. After that, he had no idea. He wanted to see his mother, have her make everything better, but that would mean admitting his failure, that he'd left her for nothing, that he returned a disappointment.

He had nowhere else to go, which cemented his decision to retrace steps taken years ago, to the crumbling facade of Watto's shop. Now that he was here, it was as though he had never left. The weight of the heat and suns, though setting now, hunched his shoulders and reminded him of his place - his place was, and would always be, here.

Watto sat alone in the shop, fiddling with a pit 'droid, looking frustrated and, if Anakin didn't know any better, somewhat lonely. But then again, maybe he was projecting.

The Toydarian looked up as Anakin entered the shop. "We're closed!" he barked, obviously not recognizing his former possession. Then again, it had been seven years, and Anakin wasn't a little boy anymore.

Anakin bent and picked up the pit 'droid Watto had been struggling with, greeting him in rusty Huttese. The poor device's motivator had gotten out of alignment, and Anakin worked silently for a moment, a twist here, a jerk there. Without the Force, it was more difficult than he'd expected. One more loss, one more regret. Machines didn't speak to him anymore. He felt a thousand times more empty. "I'm looking for Shmi Skywalker," he said finally, once finished with his task. The 'droid sprang to life - maybe all hope was not lost.

Watto peered at him, rising to hover face-to-face. "Ani?" he said, as though remembering a long-forgotten friend. He looked over at the 'droid, then back at Anakin. "It is you!" he crowed, almost delighted. Anakin wondered if he'd been missed by more than just his mother, but pushed the thought aside. Watto, while not the worst of owners, had still owned him, after all.

"Where is my mother?" Anakin asked. He wasn't in the mood for small talk, wasn't in the mood for 'catching up'. He just wanted... needed... his mother.

Looking evasive, Watto cleared his throat. "She's, ah, not here," he admitted after a long moment, and panic clenched Anakin's stomach. "She's not mine no more," he clarified.

"What?" Anakin growled.

"I sold her," the Toydarian replied. "Years ago - sorry Ani, you know, business is business." Of course, people's lives were just business transactions here; Anakin wasn't sure why he was so surprised. "Sold her to a moisture farmer called, ah, Lars... at least I think it was Lars..." He turned away from Anakin, fluttering to the back of the shop, muttering something about being free and married.

"Where can I find her?" Anakin asked, following him, trying not to look around, trying not to let the memories seep into his consciousness. He found himself relieved that his mother, at least, sounded to be in a good place. He only hoped he would be welcome again.

Watto rummaged around in a chest for a moment, and pulled out a battered datapad. "Here," he said. "Long way from here. Other side of Mos Eisley." Anakin's heart sank. Mos Eisley, despite being the nearest city to Mos Espa, was still much further than he could walk, and though he had some Republic credits, they wouldn't help him buy passage. Watto, surprisingly, seemed to sense his dismay. "Look," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I got some 'droids I need fixed up. You do that, I'll loan you a speeder."

Anakin swallowed heavily. Indentured servitude, even temporarily, was not how he'd intended to begin his journey, but he couldn't see any way around it. Besides, even with his diminished capabilities, it wouldn't take him more than a night to finish. He nodded, and set to work.


It took all night, and most of the next morning, to fix Watto's varied assortment of broken 'droids. To the Toydarian's credit, he kept his word and presented a battered speeder to Anakin once the last 'droid's casing had been put on. He'd also tried to get Anakin to eat before he left, doting in a way he never had when he'd owned Anakin, but Anakin couldn't imagine eating. He thanked Watto and sped off, ready to leave Mos Espa far, far behind.

The stretch of desert between Mos Espa and Mos Eisley was flat and shadeless, and by the time Anakin got to the other city hours later, pulling up in front of a disreputable cantina, he was well sun-burnt, caked with the desert's dust. In Mos Eisley, Republic credits were accepted, so he refueled and bought a small bottle of precious water before heading out again, across the Judland Wastes.

It was nearing dark when he pulled up to a small, domed homestead on the far reaches of the Wastes, past Anchorhead. A bright spotlight illuminated the area around the farm - to keep Tusken Raiders at bay, Anakin surmised. He was parched, and could feel his skin already beginning to peel. He hadn't realized how used to Coruscant's controlled climate he'd gotten, how complacent he was about dangers he once knew exactly how to thwart.

He sat in the speeder for a long while, unsure if he should stay, if he should go, if he should head out into the vast forbidding desert to never return. After the suns began to dip below the horizon, a woman emerged from the small domed entrance to the homestead. Anakin's breath caught in his throat; she hadn't changed at all, still held herself with quiet dignity, still looked warm and worn and comforting. He almost turned around and left, but she saw him before he could move.

"Hello?" she called out, getting closer. "Who are you?" Anakin was gripped with a sudden cold fear; Watto hadn't recognized him, what if his mother didn't either? What if she'd forgotten him? What if she didn't want him to be a part of her new life? He felt, very suddenly, like he was going to throw up. Then, "Anakin?" So hopeful, so hesitant.

Anakin got out of the speeder, wincing as his sunburn pulled, suddenly feeling panicked. What was he going to say? How was he going to explain himself? What if she turned him away? The questions hammered against his skull, along with the throbbing brought about by sun exposure and dehydration, and before Anakin could move to meet her, he sank to his knees and pitched forward into the sand.


He'd often had nightmares, but none had ever been so vivid. He took a moment before opening his eyes, cherishing the cool air, the soft bed beneath him, the wet cloth draped over his eyes. Obi-Wan must have come in during the night and thought him feverish. Comfort washed over Anakin, and he reached into the Force to touch his Master's mind.

And recoiled, horrified at the void that loomed where the Force should have been. Then he remembered, then the hand pressed against his chest to keep him from flailing no longer felt like Obi-Wan's. He wanted to moan, wanted to wail, to weep, to scream, but he didn't. He kept his eyes closed and sucked in deep breaths, suffocating on his remembered fate.

"Ani?" His mother's voice, so warm, so close, danced across his consciousness. "Ani, wake up." The cloth moved from his eyes to his forehead.

So he opened his eyes and looked at her, blinking, adjusting, every muscle aching, not just from his journey across the desert, but from his sinking misery. "Mom," he croaked, and she gave him a cup of precious, rare water. He sipped, not wanting to waste what was such a treasured commodity. This wasn't Coruscant; water would not be provided whenever he wanted anymore.

He sat up, realizing he was on a small pallet, a threadbare blanket draped over him. His mother drew him into a tight embrace, and he could feel her hot tears slide between her cheek and his. It made him want to add to them with his own, but he swallowed instead. "I'm not a Jedi anymore," he blurted, instantly regretting it. He hadn't meant to tell her that way, hadn't meant for it to tumble from his lips so easily.

His mother said nothing for a long moment, and Anakin was sure she was going to push him away, tell him to leave. Instead, she simply smoothed his hair, no longer in its traditional Padawan style, and hummed softly. Only when he realized that he was still in her arms did he allow himself tears.


The next morning broke early, twin suns peeking over the horizon far before Anakin was ready for them. He felt spread thin, disoriented, exhausted. Still he pulled himself from bed and found his way to an open-air kitchen where his mother and another boy, perhaps a few years older, were making breakfast. Anakin tensed, his throat tightening.

"Ani." His mother smiled at him warmly, adoringly, gratefully. "This is Owen," she said, gesturing to the other boy.

"Hi," Owen said with a gruff friendliness.

Anakin just nodded, unsure he could find words. He stood in the doorway, watching the comfortable domestic scene unfold before him. Owen and his mother seemed to share a quiet understanding, a mutual affection, and Anakin felt his shoulders hunch a bit more under the weight of it. "What would you like?" Shmi asked him, and Anakin jerked at the sound of her voice. "You must be hungry. We'll go to the market to pick up some extra food, so..." She trailed off, as if uncomfortable to mention the fact her household was not set up to accommodate another mouth to feed.

He shoved himself off the doorframe, feeling as though he'd gone through twelve sparring practices in a row. "I..." He cleared his throat, tried again. "I'm..." He wanted to say he wasn't hungry, but he was. Ravenous, even, now that reality was slowly beginning to reform. Instead of verbalizing, though, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the remains of the credits he'd been given, pressing them into his mother's palm. "The speeder's yours, too," he managed.

The fact Shmi didn't even protest told Anakin all he needed to know.


Anakin felt bad pushing his eggs around his plate, so he forced himself to choke them down. He was hungry, desperately so, but it hurt to swallow, and the eggs sat defiantly in his stomach, a hard lump of immovable permacrete. At breakfast he met Cliegg Lars, Owen's father and his mother's new husband, as well as Beru Whitesun, Owen's fiancee, who lived on the farm to help out while they saved for a wedding. Anakin let the introductions wash over him, kept slamming up against a wall of nothingness when he tried to use the Force to get a measure of the people.

While he was away, life had gone on. It flowed undaunted, but he sat, feeling stagnant. Nobody asked him about being a Jedi, and nobody looked right at him. He felt awkward, like his first days at the Temple. He was an outsider again, and more weight settled. Any more, and he would be laid out on the ground, he was sure.

"You know anything about moisture vaporators?" Cliegg asked him, finally, the first words directed towards him specifically since Owen's mild greeting.

Anakin swallowed heavily. "Um, a little," he admitted, finding himself clearing his throat a few times before sound would come out. "But I can learn." He added the last without thinking, only after realizing he was fully resigning himself to this life. Anakin frowned, slumping in his chair.

"I'd say you've got a head for it," Cliegg replied, nodding towards Threepio, who had been much more excited to see Anakin than had been expected. Anakin, though, couldn't see into Threepio's mechanical heart anymore, so his response had been muted. He could no longer care.

Anakin just nodded, bowing his head over his plate. "Once you're up to it, I'll take you out there," Owen offered, as if there was no question that Anakin would be staying.

Anakin nodded again. Weight settled; he swallowed, and sank deeper into his new reality, resigned to the fact nothing would ever change. Stuck, he let fate swallow him whole.


Title: Reflections of the Past
Challenge: SWMININANO2
Prompt: clandestine
Word Count: 351
Characters: Anakin, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka (mentioned)
Rating: PG
Summary: Anakin prepares to go undercover.
Author's Notes: Based on "Slaves of the Republic" (comic series as well as the current Clone Wars episode arc - some spoilers)


Obi-Wan could tell Anakin was struggling with their assignment, and couldn't help but wonder why the Council had assigned them, taking into account the nature of the mission and Anakin's past. He had a feeling it was a test; just as Ahsoka was a test of Anakin's troublesome tendency towards attachment, so too would this mission be a test of the young man's relationship with his past.

Anakin was fiddling with his starfighter, deep in concentration of the sort Obi-Wan recognized as an attempt to ignore his emotions. Still, Obi-Wan could feel Anakin's anger, his frustration and fear, through the Force as though they were his own.

He didn't want them to have to go on this mission. Didn't want to have to re-canvass those memories, have to fight against Anakin's innate response. While he didn't want to think Anakin would endanger the mission, his role it in was inherantly distasteful to him, Ahsoka's own role even more repulsive. "Anakin."

"I don't want to talk about it," Anakin snapped, not taking his attention from his task. "I won't screw this up, but I don't have to like it."

"No, you don't," Obi-Wan allowed. "But Anakin, it is vital that you do not allow your personal feelings to compromise your cover." He was sure Anakin would not purposely do anything to derail the mission, but he knew his former apprentice had a way of unconsciously letting his control slip.

Anakin snorted. "I'm not going to screw it up," he repeated. His hand slipped, the tool skipping over the paint of the fighter, chipping it. Anakin cursed, rubbed his finger over the blemish. He bowed his head, sighing.

"Do you need..."


Obi-Wan sighed, knowing there was nothing he could say to make this any better. "I'm sorry." It wasn't enough. Just saying he was sorry didn't make up for the fact Anakin was about to pretend to be a slaver, that Ahsoka was about to pretend to be property of the sort Anakin had been for almost half of his life.

"Me too," Anakin grunted, and ignored him until Obi-Wan walked away.


Title: Pride
Challenge: SWMININANO2
Prompt: humiliation
Word Count: 237
Characters: Anakin
Rating: PG
Summary: Immediately post-Geonosis



Not just his arm, but oh that hurts like nothing he's ever felt before. Not just his skin, prickling still with electricity. Not just the myriad scrapes and scratches and bruises from the Arena.

No, the physical pain is nothing. He can overcome that. He feels the pain, so sharply, so intimately. The pain is like a familiar lover, like a dear friend. He can live with the pain.

He opens his eyes, looks down at the ruins of his arm. Nothing left below the elbow, and his breath hitches. It is not the loss of his arm. He can learn to wield a mechno just as easily.

It is not the pain, or the loss, that makes him want to curl up under the covers of his medbay cot and never emerge. No, it is the burning, aching humiliation of being bested. Of making a choice that turned out to be so very, very wrong. All of his boasting, all of his arrogance, ripped to shreds and what is left. An orphan. A slave child. A scared little boy who saw too many people die today. Certainly not the fierce warrior-Jedi he has been trying so hard to be. He can feel the flush of embarrassment as he looks down at the stump of a limb, can feel the deep, aching loss. Loss of limb. Loss of pride.

It's the latter that hurts the most.


Title: Fear Will Be Undone
Challenge: SWMININANO2
Prompt: death sticks
Word Count: 2221
Characters: Anakin, Obi-Wan, Luminara
Rating: R
Summary: Anakin and Obi-Wan and an undercover mission. Also, drugs.
Author's Notes: I started something similar several years ago on [ profile] capslock_cw. I really loved the idea, and wanted to do something not, uh, crack-fic with it. Title/cut text from "Getting Even" by Guster


Obi-Wan Kenobi hadn't liked the idea from the start. There was too much risk involved, too much at stake. Besides, he and Anakin were not the best at undercover work. He'd suggested Quinlan Vos, or even Garen Muln, to the Council, but it had already been decided. Two Jedi, and Anakin and Obi-Wan were the best on the battlefield, so surely they would be the best at this too. Obi-Wan couldn't help but think that Anakin was a little too good at this.

"We need to make it convincing," Anakin said, fingering the brightly-colored vial. "Do you have a better idea?"

Obi-Wan ran a hand over his beard. He had plenty of better ideas, but they all involved neither of them taking part in this mission. "Careful," he said, finally. "Just be careful."

Anakin dumped the contents of the vial into his drink. "You know me, Master," he said with a lopsided grin, hoisting the glass in a toast.

"Why do you think I told you to be careful?"

Anakin drank down the contents of the glass, and Obi-Wan held his breath. Anakin shuddered, wrinkling his nose and coughing slightly. "Not the best tasting stuff in the galaxy," he commented. "How long is this supposed to..." He trailed off, blinked. "Oh."

"Well?" Obi-Wan prompted, watching Anakin closely. The younger man's pupils suddenly dilated, his breathing slowed. Anakin sank back on the threadbare sofa and ran his left hand over the unholstery.

Anakin swallowed heavily, looked up at Obi-Wan. "Well," he echoed. "They were right about the Force. It's very... uh, huh." He blinked again. "Huh."

Obi-Wan approached him carefully, like Anakin was a wild animal. "Are you okay?"

A bright grin split Anakin's face. He was practically glowing in delight. "I am great," he replied. "The Force is, it's still there but it's... Master, I can hear my own thoughts and it's so quiet!" He tilted his head back, laughed. "I feel wonderful."

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably. "Don't get used to it," he said, sharply. This was a terrible idea, from start to finish. "Come on," he said, holding out a hand. "Let's go meet our contact."


Meeting their contact, Anakin played his part well. Already dazed by the initial dose, he added to that a certain twitchiness, jumping at shadows. Obi-Wan wasn't sure how much of that was an act or how much of it was Anakin experiencing the brightly-colored garish hallucinations that were part and parcel of death stick use.

Their contact knew they were Jedi, but pretended not to, acting as though they were just customers, just simple folks needing something he could provide. "We heard you got other stuff," Anakin said, effortlessly taking on an Outer Rim cadance. "Can you help us?"

"Can you pay for it?" the contact responded, pulling a vial out of his pocket. Anakin reached for it, but the contact pulled it away. "Let me bring you to Olek," he offered; their Separatist target. "He's got something that'll make you feel real good."

Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged glances, and Obi-Wan hoped they would be able to end the mission quickly, get the proof they needed that the Separatists were working on some kind of biochem warfare, something to keep populations docile, get Olek under arrest, get back home. "Take us to him," Obi-Wan said.

The contact - Leeds, he said his name was - led them down a long, dark corridor to a bank of lifts. Hitting the button for the top floor, they rode the lift in silence. Anakin was trembling slightly, darting his eyes around, breathing hard. He jumped when Obi-Wan put a hand on his shoulder, but quickly relaxed as they exited the lift into an oppulant suite, very different from the stinking sludge of the floors below.

"Do you live here?" Olek was a Klatooinian, with a wide, leathery face and small dark eyes. At the sight of him, Anakin started, backing up into Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "Uh, yes," he replied, pushing the Core out of his accent, emulating the same speech Anakin had adopted. "Yeah. Newly. Leeds said you're the guy to talk to."

"I need something," Anakin offered. "Leeds said you'd help me."

Olek made a sharp barking noise, and gestured to Anakin. "Come here boy," he ordered. Anakin blinked, and did as he was told, taking hesitant steps towards the slythmonger. "Pretty," Olek said, decisively. "You haven't been using long, have you?"

Anakin shook his head, eyes wide, playing his part. "Nuh uh," he agreed.

"What I've got you might not be able to handle," Olek commented, reaching out and gripping Anakin's check between meaty thumb and forefinger. "You planning on staying a while?" He reached behind him and returned with a handful of bright vials. He pressed them into Anakin's hand. "I never like to see a pretty young thing go wanting." He gestured to one of the twi'lek girls perched around the room. She sauntered over, took Anakin by the elbow, led him to a nest of pillows. Obi-Wan tried to keep Anakin in sight, but the twi'lek girl was blocking his view, and Olek was speaking to him. "And you? Is he yours?"

Obi-Wan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Not as such," he replied, realizing suddenly that Olek's attraction to Anakin, while dangerous, would likely be their key to successful completion of the mission. He was sure Anakin had come to the same conclusion. Still, it didn't feel quite right.

"Come back when you need more," Olek said as Anakin stood, shakily, using the twi'lek girl's shoulder for support. "Anytime."

Anakin nodded, dumbly, moving unsteadily back towards Obi-Wan. "'Kay..." He ran his hands up and down Obi-Wan's tunic. "Go now," he said. "We'll come back."


"If you don't want to do this, just say so," Obi-Wan said, back in their temporary apartment several levels down from Olek's penthouse.

Anakin licked his lips and took a deep breath. The drug was waning, and he looked tired. "He's got it, Master," he said, with certainty. "If I can get close to him, I'll be able to get a sample, we'll be able to figure out what they're planning. We can bring him to justice." He clenched his mechanical fist.

"Just how close are you willing to get?" Obi-Wan ventured, frowning as Anakin set the vials on the table in front of the couch, clumsily hovering one with the Force. "Well, at least you can still do that much," he sighed.

"It's not too bad," Anakin replied. "I can still feel the Force. I know I can still control it, it's just not as strong as it usually is." He gave a slight smile. "Maybe that's a good thing."

"It's not," Obi-Wan snapped. "Never take your gifts for granted, Anakin."

Anakin shrugged, lifting two more of the vials with invisible fingers, juggling them in midair in front of him. "I'm not," he said. "And don't worry, this isn't exactly something I want to be doing in the long-term."


"I'll go back tomorrow," Anakin said, rising from the sofa and going into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of something brown. "This'll be over within a week."

Obi-Wan frowned, doubtful, as Anakin dumped another vial into his drink. "Be careful. Do you want me to come with you?"

Anakin shrugged again, swallowing his drink. "Up to you," he replied. "It might be easier if I go in alone."

The thought sent chills down Obi-Wan's spine. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"I don't," Anakin responded as his pupils widened and he sank into drug-induced joy.


Obi-Wan was not prone to pacing, as a general rule. But, as with most of his rules, when Anakin was involved, things had a way of coming apart. Anakin had been gone for hours, now, and Obi-Wan was tempted to take the lift to find him, but he didn't want to compromise the mission, didn't want to make things possibly even more dangerous.

When Anakin returned, Obi-Wan wished he had just gone with him. His tunic was sliding off one shoulder, and there were hand-shaped bruises marring the bare flesh. He smelled of sex and whiskey and the tangy musk of burnt death sticks. "Are you alright?"

Anakin gave him a dazed smile. "More'n alright," he slurred, crossing the space between them languidly, sensually. He ran his hands through Obi-Wan's hair, down his beard. "F'I go back 'gain... there's, he's got a disc, a disc with th' info, e'rything we're lookin' for." He sagged against Obi-Wan's chest, grinning. "I can dis'ract 'im, grab th' disc, s'all good."

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin's shoulders to keep him upright. "I'll get the disc," he said firmly. "Where is it?" Anakin's head lolled and he made a gurgling noise as he slid out of Obi-Wan's grip to his knees. "Anakin?"

Anakin pitched forward, his head hitting Obi-Wan's knees. He giggled, wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan's legs, shoulders shaking in chemically-enhanced mirth. It was unsettling to see Anakin like this; usually the young man craved control. Seeing him so far out of control was frightening. Anakin climbed to his feet, arms draped over Obi-Wan's shoulders, swaying them both from side to side. "It'll be over soon," Anakin said into his ear, and fell asleep on his shoulder.


Obi-Wan called for backup, to be ready with an extraction team at his signal. He wanted to be the one to get the information, wanted to keep Anakin out of harms' way. He knew, though, that Olek did not trust him. Anakin had opened himself up, made himself vulnerable for the sake of the mission, and Anakin would have to be the one to finish it. Obi-Wan just hoped when Anakin got up there, he'd remember what he was there for.

An unsteady knock on the door sprang Obi-Wan into immediate action, but when the door slid open, he found Anakin on his hands and knees, stripped to the waist. "Anakin!"

Anakin fumbled with his belt, pulled a disc from one of the pouches, handed it to Obi-Wan wordlessly. Obi-Wan grabbed it and dragged Anakin into the apartment, cursing his decision to remain behind. "Anakin, talk to me," he demanded.

"Shot me up," Anakin moaned. "Wha's on th' disc... s'in me, s'what they're gonna..." He knelt, forehead pressed against the floor. His body shuddered. "Too much," he gasped. "S'too much. I was stupid, oh... Mas'er..."

Obi-Wan pressed the button on his comlink to summon the extraction team, transmitting the location of Olek so they could swoop in for the arrest. "It's okay," he told Anakin, kneeling beside him, rubbing his back. "He gave you what they're planning to use?"

Anakin nodded miserably, rising to an upright position, head tilted back. "Feels like dyin'," Anakin breathed. "I think I'm dead." He fell forward again, rolled onto his side, retching onto the floor, breathing harsh, labored.

"You're not dead," Obi-Wan replied. "And you're not dying." Except he didn't know that. He had no idea what was currently coursing through Anakin's veins, making his lips blue, his face pale. "We'll be going home soon, it will be fine."

"Force's gone," Anakin gasped, breathing becoming more urgent, more raspy. "Gone, gone, gone... I'm gone. I'll be gone. Master."

Obi-Wan gathered Anakin into his lap, summoning the Force to send healing pulses through their tattered bond. He stayed like that, legs cramping, fear threatening to overshadow his deeply ingrained training. The door exploded inward, he bent to shield Anakin from the debris.

"Haja! Obi-Wan!" He looked up, saw Luminara Unduli in the doorway, flanked by a pair of Clones. She rushed to them, kneeling, running her hands over Anakin. "Is this...?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Intravenous, from what I've gathered," he replied as Luminara and the Clones began to assess Anakin's condition.

"We've secured the building," Luminara said as she worked. "Olek's in custody. You both did well." Beneath her hands, Anakin moaned. "Relax," she said to him, putting a push of the Force behind the word. He did, sagging against Obi-Wan. "Can you walk?"

Anakin stirred. "Maybe," he gasped, struggled to pull himself upright. Obi-Wan rose, helping Anakin to his feet, unsteady.

It took some time, and many stops for Anakin to catch his breath, but they made it back to Luminara's ship. Anakin was ushered immediately into the medical bay, Obi-Wan trailing behind, not sure what else to do.

"This is my fault," he told Luminara as she injected Anakin with a detoxifying agent. His color improved almost immediately, the shaking subsiding.

"You're as bad as he is," Luminara replied, gesturing towards Anakin. "It wasn't your fault, Obi-Wan. Anakin made his own decisions, your mission succeeded, and Anakin will be fine in time."

Obi-Wan sighed. He knew, logically, that Luminara was correct. "Thank you, my friend," he said instead of arguing with her. She nodded, and left them alone.

Anakin slitted open his eyes. "Hey, Master," he greeted. "Think I'll get a vacation out of this?"

"If a week in the Halls of Healing counts, then, yes," Obi-Wan countered. "What you did was foolish, Anakin."

Anakin gave him a dour look. "And saved countless lives," he pointed out.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Just another day in the life of Anakin Skywalker, then?" he asked, and Anakin laughed.

"Of course, Master," he said, smiling. Obi-Wan gave in, and smiled too.


Title: I Know Who I Want to Take Me Home
Challenge: SWMININANO2
Prompt: Unfulfilled Challenge (Intoxication)
Word Count: 371
Characters: Anakin/Obi-Wan
Rating: R
Summary: A night out during a mission that already has Anakin's inhibitions lowered makes Obi-Wan distinctly uncomfortable - for a minute
Author's Notes: Companion/missing scene of "Fear Will Be Undone" Title and cut-text from "Closing Time"


Obi-Wan Kenobi was not a 'nightclub' kind of guy, so the fact he was even here grated on him. Anakin, on the other hand, thrived in this kind of environment and if Obi-Wan could have trusted Anakin's judgement (which, given the nature of their mission and the role Anakin was playing in it, he couldn't), he would have just let the young man have his fun and get the job done.

"C'mon, Master." Anakin appeared suddenly over Obi-Wan's shoulder, interrupting the older man's un-Jedi-like brooding. "Come dance with me." His eyes were shining from the recent death stick use, his words slightly slurred from the drinks. Obi-Wan had to admit, this was making him nervous. Day by day, Anakin seemed to be forgetting the mission as his grip on reality - and extended sobriety - faltered.

"No," Obi-Wan replied, prying Anakin's fingers from his tunic and turning back to the bar and the drink he was nursing.

"It's for the mission, Master," Anakin replied, ducking his head close enough to Obi-Wan's ear that he could feel Anakin's hot breath on the side of his face. "Olek's watching. He already doesn't trust you. Dance with me."

Obi-Wan had no idea if Anakin was telling the truth, but this was Olek's club, so it was possible. He stood, scowling as Anakin reached over and drained the rest of Obi-Wan's drink. "C'mon," Anakin prompted, grabbing Obi-Wan's hand and dragging him to the dance floor.

The pulsing lights and rumbling beats gave Obi-Wan a headache, but Anakin was grinning, pressing his long, lean body against Obi-Wan's, writhing in time to the music. Obi-Wan tried to follow suit, but this was not even remotely his comfort zone. Still, Anakin's excitement was infectuous, to a degree, and Obi-Wan found himself falling into Anakin's bright blue eyes, his wild smile. "I love you, Master!" Anakin shouted over the din, inhibitions - and all semblance of Jedi restraint - drowned by his last drink.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Anakin..."

Anakin looked at him from under lowered lashes, and suddenly their mouths were pressed together. Anakin shoved their bodies together, probing gently with his tongue. He tasted like whiskey and death sticks and excitement and Anakin, and Obi-Wan gave in.


Title: Attachment
Challenge: SWMININANO2
Prompt: eunuch
Word Count: 140
Characters: Anakin
Rating: PG
Summary: Anakin can't follow the Code


No attachments did not mean no sex. No attachments meant just that: do not get attached. Do not allow feelings for one impact the fate of others. It was, on the face of it, a simple thing. So basic, so easy.

It would have been so easy for Anakin to just denounce attachments, to sow his wild oats without a thought to relationships or love. But Anakin had been raised to love, had been raised to respect and cherish and be attached. The Jedi teachings, for all of their good intentions, did not speak to him on that level. They stifled, and punished and tried to take away the very thing that made him Anakin.

And even though he wanted to be a Jedi more than anything in the universe, he could not give up love. He would sooner die.
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