When You Come Home

-40-

"You look tired."

Anakin blinked, jerking his head up. "What?"

"You look tired," Obi-Wan repeated, perching on the edge of Anakin's box-bed. He handed him a cup of something steaming. "Good morning."

"It's no wonder I'm tired," Anakin grumbled, taking the cup. "Thanks." He peered at the suspicious liquid.

"It's hot chocolate," he informed Anakin happily. "Because I know you don't drink coffee."

"I'm not fourteen anymore," Anakin frowned. "I drink coffee now."

"Oh," Obi-Wan looked crushed. He reached for the cup. "I'm sorry, I didn't think of that. I can get you —"

"N-no," Anakin stopped him, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "It's okay. Thanks." Obi-Wan's smile forced Anakin to mirror it. "Thank you — for helping Cody."

He seemed surprised, biting into a granola bar. "You don't even know if I've done anything yet."

"Unless you've changed drastically since I last saw you, I know you wouldn't let up on a promise you'd made," Anakin said over his cup. Then he added as he took a sip. "Except that's not true anymore. So you're probably right: I should make sure you've fulfilled your word."

Obi-Wan sighed, crunching up his packet. "I get your point, Anakin. And I'm sorry again; I know what I promised. But I did do it. Cody is being safely transported to Coruscant."

Anakin fixed his gaze on his cup. He actually hadn't meant to insult Obi-Wan — not this time. His first assumption had been that Obi-Wan completed the job without hesitation or mistake. Only when he had raised query did Anakin realize the abnormality of his faith. But then, it wasn't so abnormal. It never used to be, anyway. The boys had had complete trust in each other, over the simplest or most complicated things. They had never failed the other.

But he said none of this to Obi-Wan. If he had wanted to repair the bridge between them, logic would have dictated he confess such thoughts, but hurt and mistrust bade him pause. Perhaps he could explore reconciliation another day, but today was not that day. Today was the day to rest and recover, to heal and restore what had been broken. That was what he wanted for his men, in any case.

He could not participate in such activities. He couldn't allow himself such leisure, such inaction, such laziness. He could not dishonor Cody by neglecting the troop. They were his to protect, and he would not fail Cody. Some quiet voice in his mind, that sounded too much like the gentle chagrin of Rex, murmured that Cody would be more upset that Anakin wasn't looking after himself.  That he had set up the boys was all he would ask, then he would have made Anakin take some much needed time. Time to feel and to hurt and to process. Time which Anakin neither had, nor cared to make.

Anakin hated grief. He hated grieving, and he hated grief. Grieving hurt, and it never changed: it, and the people who sandwiched it. The ones at the funeral, or friends of the one Anakin had lost, they never said anything new. It was always "I'm sorry for your loss," "it will work out one day," or "give yourself time." No one truly understood what it was like to lose someone so desperately close. Every word of sympathy or pity had always been shallow and lifeless, so much so that Anakin had come to hate any kind of sympathy at all. They could never say such words without the authority of experience backing them, so Anakin could only take them for what they were.

All he really wanted was for someone to come alongside him and whisper, "I know. I'm here. What can I do?"

And he was grateful for Rex; he would never say he wasn't. Rex had been his lifeboat in a storm of grief and anger. But Rex hadn't understood. Not truly.