When You Come Home

-57-

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin didn't believe it. There was no possible way. No way. Not in the history of ways. It was impossible. As impossible as Obi-Wan breaking a promise. 

Which turned out not to be so impossible.

But that was besides the point.

Obi-Wan would never do such a thing, Anakin was certain.

But Palpatine nodded nonetheless. "Yes, the police – and Jedi," he added quietly, "are looking into the bombings. He is the prime suspect, for a variety of reasons."

Anakin was shaking his head. "Obi-Wan wouldn't. I need to talk to him." He threw back the sheet, starting to get out of the bed, but Palpatine stopped him.

"Absolutely not. You are not well enough to be going anywhere." Before he could say anything else, his phone began ringing loudly.

Anakin jumped.

Palpatine grabbed it, apologizing for his rudeness. After nodding and saying, "yes," and "I see" a couple of times, he put his phone away, looking pained. "I'm sorry, my boy, but I must leave. If it were anything else, I would have made them wait until we were finished. Mace has just informed me that they think they have located your brother."

Anakin clenched his fists tight, but he was also enormously relieved. They hadn't caught him yet. "He's innocent. Let me see him."

Palpatine continued to shake his head even as he went to the door. "I'm very sorry, but I have to go. We just need to talk to him. The truth about this situation will come to light, I'm sure. If Obi-Wan is innocent, then the facts will speak for themselves. You'll see." Then he was gone, and Anakin was alone again.

His hand relaxed as he let it drift back to his lap. Obi-Wan couldn't be culpable. He wouldn't do something like that. He was almost sure of it. Almost. Of course, those nasty doubts mumbled that Obi-Wan was a different person now, and Anakin may not know him at all anymore. That anything could have happened in the three years they had been apart. He knew that he wasn't the same. But whether that was a good change or not, he didn't know.

But no, he was sure Obi-Wan was innocent. Even if all was not as it seemed, he was sure of that one fact: Obi-Wan wouldn't take life. Ever. So Palpatine was right. The facts would speak for themselves. And the best way to hear their story was to find the facts himself.

Anakin looked back up to the IV line, tracing it to its source from the dark oak wood headboard. Why his bizarrely angled medical bed needed a headboard twice its width was beyond him. But being placed in the centre of the room gave him a tether that would probably reach to every part of its circumference. There was much to discover, and uncover, so he would start by checking out this room. It was too soon to discern whether he would be able to sneak out – he wouldn't be able to pull the same trick he had used in the Mandalorian hospital because slipping out a window would land him a quick trip to an early doom. His room was set several stories high, so using the door would be his surest path out.

He swung his legs over the bed, wincing as pain ripped at his body. But sneaking out would have to wait because, first, he needed to finding out whatever was causing him so much pain. He needed to know his condition before he could make a plan. He just hoped that Obi-Wan would be able to evade the police and Jedi until he was well enough to help.

Bare feet landed noiselessly on the plush carpet as he tested his weight on shaky legs. He could feel the pull of stitches and of barely healing wounds across his body. But whatever painkillers were being fed into him through the IV were working, and he managed to stand upright. Supporting himself on the bed's railing, he edged towards the end of the bed, mentally mapping out the locations of each stab of pain or dull ache. The heart monitor beeped judgmentally as he went, his oxygen levels fluctuating in solidarity.