crucible

prologue

anakin has seen that look before. the weariness. the pain that's nearly indistinguishable from exhaustion. 

grief. 

she'd been nine at the time. 

standing at the doorway of the bedroom, listening to mira, their next door neighbor, whisper softly to the little girl who lay in the bed. five years-old and cold and limp and dead. she'd been gone for a few hours now. 

anakin had watched as her own mother approached mira, laying a hand on the woman's shoulder. had watched her say a few quiet words, and had watched as mira nodded and rose from her place on the floor. 

she'd turned around, and anakin looked in her eyes and saw it. 

grief. 

obi-wan stands by the fire, hood up. but anakin can see his face, just barely visible in the firelight. shadows flicker across the lines that she swears weren't there three days ago. 

she doesn't speak. she knows better than to try to comfort those who have experienced such a loss. maybe later, when he's begun brightening, she'll say something. but until then, she is silent. 

in the end, though, it's him who speaks. he turns to her, appraises her, and offers her a firm nod. his face is determined. 

"you will be a jedi," he tells her. "i promise."

anakin nods at him in return. she's seen that look before, too. 

in the mirror. in her own blue eyes. before the pod race, after being taken aboard qui-gon's ship. before throwing herself into the battle of naboo. 

she believes him.