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Anakin followed Master Mundi off the air transport. They’d just come from speaking with the Chancellor, and Anakin’s instruction was to go prepare for the next mission that they were departing for in under a few hours. He’d not even been granted time to go see Padmé – he was here on Coruscant and couldn’t even see the one person who could give him a modicum of comfort.
Obi-Wan had been declared dead during a battle on Jabiim. But Anakin couldn’t shake the feeling that they were wrong. And it wasn’t as Master Mundi said, Anakin didn’t feel this way because he was too attached to Obi-Wan. His sorrow wasn’t clouding his judgment – this was a truth deeper than that.
He just knew Obi-Wan was still alive.
But Master Mundi wouldn’t hear of it. And neither would the other Council members.
Anakin could only follow his new Master's instructions.
As he was walking towards his quarters to change for the mission, he saw Master Tachi standing before one of the tall corridor windows. He paused. He knew Master Mundi would not appreciate a delay of any kind, but Anakin also knew there had been something more than friendship between his former Master and Siri, even if it was never acted upon (that he knew of). The news of Obi-Wan’s death, though Master Tachi was the image of Jedi decorum in all outward appearances, must have hit her hard. Anakin was moved to extend a word of comfort to her; even if she might respond with the usual Jedi platitudes, he felt he needed to at least try.
“Master Tachi?” he said quietly, to get her attention.
Obi-Wan had been declared dead during a battle on Jabiim. But Anakin couldn’t shake the feeling that they were wrong. And it wasn’t as Master Mundi said, Anakin didn’t feel this way because he was too attached to Obi-Wan. His sorrow wasn’t clouding his judgment – this was a truth deeper than that.
He just knew Obi-Wan was still alive.
But Master Mundi wouldn’t hear of it. And neither would the other Council members.
Anakin could only follow his new Master's instructions.
As he was walking towards his quarters to change for the mission, he saw Master Tachi standing before one of the tall corridor windows. He paused. He knew Master Mundi would not appreciate a delay of any kind, but Anakin also knew there had been something more than friendship between his former Master and Siri, even if it was never acted upon (that he knew of). The news of Obi-Wan’s death, though Master Tachi was the image of Jedi decorum in all outward appearances, must have hit her hard. Anakin was moved to extend a word of comfort to her; even if she might respond with the usual Jedi platitudes, he felt he needed to at least try.
“Master Tachi?” he said quietly, to get her attention.
Awareness came back to Siri slowly, like she was surfacing from the bottom of an incredibly deep lake. She was groggy, and confused, and felt a little like she was floating. She was exhausted... and there was no more pain, no more white hot aching in her ribs, in her hips, no more burning agony in her chest, so intense that it made it hard for her to breathe. That was... wrong, somehow. She... she should...
“For star’s sake, Obi-Wan, I’m dying. Do you have to interrupt me now?” There was something like humour in her voice, but it was a pale and reedy thing. She was dying. And he would have to watch her go.
“You’re not dying.”
Something occurred to her then, the sentimental idea of a dying woman, and she struggled to get into a pouch on her utility belt. Her fingers plucked uselessly at it, and fear, for the first time, stabbed through her. “I can’t... Get it for me.”
It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about, but he slipped her warming crystal, the one that Talesan had returned to her, and pressed it into her hand. A faint smile appeared briefly on her face.
“No... yours.” She turned her hand, letting the crystal fall into his palm. It carried memories of things they hadn’t spoken about in years, but it was the only thing she had. “Now I will never leave you.”
“You will never leave me,” he echoed.
It took all she had, but Siri reached up, brushing fingertips gently against Obi-Wan’s cheek, before her hand fell. “Don’t worry so much,” she told him softly. She knew him better, knew he would anyway, but she had to try. She had so little time. I don’t want to leave you. She could admit that here, now, at the end. So much wasted time. Her eyes fluttered closed as consciousness slipped from her grasp...
Memory rushed back in, and her eyes flew open. She was in a bacta tank. Which explained the floating sensation. And how she was still alive. Almost frantic (but not frantic, Jedi were never frantic), she pounded on the glass. Obi-Wan. Talesan. Their mission.
What happened?
Were they all right?
Had the mission succeeded?
She could see blurred figures outside the tank, but she didn’t know who they were; all she knew is that they weren’t Force sensitive. She reached out in the Force, seeking (Obi-Wan) someone, anyone familiar, even as she pounded on the glass harder. She needed out of this tank. She needed to know what happened. OBI-WAN. That she reached for him first, called to him first, didn’t bear dwelling on; and the thought that something could have happened to him since Magus shot her, since she’d almost died in his arms, since she’d been put in the tank, wasn’t one that even crossed her mind. He was there, she could feel him in the Force, bright and warm and familiar. And he could tell her what happened. How long she’d been unconscious.
She needed out of this kriffing tank.
She needed to see him.
“For star’s sake, Obi-Wan, I’m dying. Do you have to interrupt me now?” There was something like humour in her voice, but it was a pale and reedy thing. She was dying. And he would have to watch her go.
“You’re not dying.”
Something occurred to her then, the sentimental idea of a dying woman, and she struggled to get into a pouch on her utility belt. Her fingers plucked uselessly at it, and fear, for the first time, stabbed through her. “I can’t... Get it for me.”
It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about, but he slipped her warming crystal, the one that Talesan had returned to her, and pressed it into her hand. A faint smile appeared briefly on her face.
“No... yours.” She turned her hand, letting the crystal fall into his palm. It carried memories of things they hadn’t spoken about in years, but it was the only thing she had. “Now I will never leave you.”
“You will never leave me,” he echoed.
It took all she had, but Siri reached up, brushing fingertips gently against Obi-Wan’s cheek, before her hand fell. “Don’t worry so much,” she told him softly. She knew him better, knew he would anyway, but she had to try. She had so little time. I don’t want to leave you. She could admit that here, now, at the end. So much wasted time. Her eyes fluttered closed as consciousness slipped from her grasp...
Memory rushed back in, and her eyes flew open. She was in a bacta tank. Which explained the floating sensation. And how she was still alive. Almost frantic (but not frantic, Jedi were never frantic), she pounded on the glass. Obi-Wan. Talesan. Their mission.
What happened?
Were they all right?
Had the mission succeeded?
She could see blurred figures outside the tank, but she didn’t know who they were; all she knew is that they weren’t Force sensitive. She reached out in the Force, seeking (Obi-Wan) someone, anyone familiar, even as she pounded on the glass harder. She needed out of this tank. She needed to know what happened. OBI-WAN. That she reached for him first, called to him first, didn’t bear dwelling on; and the thought that something could have happened to him since Magus shot her, since she’d almost died in his arms, since she’d been put in the tank, wasn’t one that even crossed her mind. He was there, she could feel him in the Force, bright and warm and familiar. And he could tell her what happened. How long she’d been unconscious.
She needed out of this kriffing tank.
She needed to see him.
.
