He is already thirteen. He is not a child anymore, and yet, he still sleeps with his ugly stuffed Ewok toy he made himself out of his Master’s old brown cloak back when he was nine. The stitches are all askew and the buttons of the eyes don’t match either in size or in color, but Anakin loves his old bear anyway.

Now that he is, apparently, “too old” to come to his Master’s room in the middle of a night under the pretense of having bad dreams, this toy made from the very fabric his Master used to wear, is the only thing keeping Anakin calm enough to fall asleep.

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He jerks awake – soaked in sweat and gasping with hot, parched lips – from the feeling of his soul being ripped out of him.

The panic has already coiled tightly around his chest, not letting him take a breath or even scream from the pain that is burning his insides.

Master!

He calls out through their Bond as he scrambles out of bed.

“Master!” he begs as he stumbles to the man’s bedroom on his wobbly legs, barely able to see anything through the tears. “Master!”

But the bedroom is empty and the Bond is cut off. And he can’t sense his Master’s presence in the Force…

His guiding star has gone dark on him.

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He doesn’t remember how exactly he got here. Yet here he is – barefoot and still dressed only in his sleeping pants and tunic, breathless from running all across the Temple and sobbing uncontrollably – he stands in the middle of the Council Chamber and demands in a shaky voice:

“Where is my Master?!”

For a few moments, the members of the Council remain silent, staring at him in shock and confusion, until Master Yoda finally finds his words.

“Calm yourself, you must, young Padawan,” he urges and assures, “no reason to worry, there is.”

“Why can’t I feel his Force Signature?! Where is he?!” Anakin is taking deep breaths, trying to force his pulse back under control, but his heart is pounding with a heavy, deadened sound, as if seeking to break out of his ribcage.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

In the dead silence of the Council Chamber.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Why are they all silent? Why is nobody answering him?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“WHERE. IS. HE?!” he screams, and the windows of the round room burst outward in millions and millions of sharp pieces.

“Oh, for Force’s sake, boy! Your Master is on his way to a secret mission. It requires masking his Signature!” Master Depa Billaba finally shouts over the deafening sound of the wind now bursting into the gaping holes in the walls as she grabs her chair for purchase.

“He couldn’t have gone without telling me!” Anakin yells, standing in the middle of the havoc he has caused, immovable and resolute, his hands tightened into fists and his eyes dark with rage. “Where is he? Tell me now!”

The walls shake.

Masters Shaak Ti and Stass Allie, in the chaos of their billowing robes, lunge to cover Grand Master Yoda from falling pieces of the cracked ceiling.

Masters Saesee Tiin, Coleman Kcaj and Oppo Rancisis spread their arms in an attempt to create a Force field around the Chamber to protect it from the vicious gale, but a sudden gust pushes them off their feet, making them grab their chairs and hold on to them for dear life.

Masters Plo Koon and Ki-Adi-Mundi are gesticulating wildly and shouting something, but their voices are drowned in the groan of the wind.

The only one remaining mostly calm in all this chaos, Master Mace Windu throws a very quick, discreet glance behind Anakin’s back, but Anakin still catches it. He jerks his head to see what Windu was looking at: there is a transport departing from the Temple’s landing platform.

In a flash, Anakin’s hand shoots out, reaching for the ship in a grabbing gesture.

Come to me! A familiar notion immediately springs to mind.

With a loud protesting screech, the transport freezes mid-air.

And then Anakin just pulls, his eyes fixed on the ship, his teeth clenched in concentration, and his thin tunic whipping around him in an ominous way.

The shuttle shakes and wheezes, letting out a series of spluttering and rattling sounds, but slowly, reluctantly starts to draw back to the landing pad.

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When Anakin reaches the platform, the transport is already on the pad, a little bumped and slightly tilted to the side, but appearing mainly intact.

Under the pull of Anakin’s Force grasp, the ramp opens like a tin can, with a loud metallic squeak, and falls heavily onto the duracrete surface of the landing pad.

His hood pulled up and his arms crossed under his flowing robes, Obi-Wan Kenobi steps out of the ship. His Force Signature – radiant, and golden, and warm – brushes along Anakin’s own in a gentle, soothing gush.

“Well?” His eyebrow arches expectantly as he spreads his arms in an overdramatic T-pose. “Did you miss me terribly?”

Anakin doesn’t even run to him – he nearly hyper-jumps into his Master’s arms.

A complete sobbing mess, he clings to him, trembling like a leaf in the wind, his knuckles going white from the force of his desperate grip on his Master’s robes.

Don’t leave me.

Don’t leave me.

Don’t leave me.

Like a mantra rushing in endless waves through their bond.

“Your Padawan is completely out of control!” Mace Windu’s stern voice behind Anakin’s back breaks their peaceful moment, making Anakin startle in his Master’s embrace.

“I am the control,” Obi-Wan retorts boldly, his words sending a strange, sudden jolt of hot pleasure all over Anakin’s body, making him gasp and shudder. “I told you I shouldn’t have left without telling Anakin. The Council should have let me warn him.”

“The High Council does not answer to your Padawan, Kenobi.” Windu sneers, lifting his chin with a condescending look on his face.

“Doesn’t it?” Obi-Wan smirks with a mocking eyebrow waggle. “But it looks like someone has told him exactly where to find me.”

“Skywalker has shown a total lack of respect! He even dared to threaten the Council! His actions jeopardized the safety of the Temple and completely ruined the confidential nature of your mission! He will be expelled from the Order immediately!” Windu rants, a vein throbbing in his forehead and his nostrils flaring.

“The boy simply panicked, Windu. Don’t you see, he is just a crying, scared child,” Obi-Wan tries to reason with a soft, indulgent smile, but Windu remains adamant.

“Well, that is exactly the problem here, Kenobi. He is not supposed to be ‘a crying, scared child’. He is supposed to be a Jedi apprentice who can control his emotions. Perhaps if you had taught him better–”

In less than a second, Anakin – who previously remained silent and mellow, snuggled up against his Master’s chest – whirls around. Obeying his Force command, his Master’s lightsaber springs from where it is clipped to his belt right into Anakin’s hand. It hisses – azure and angry – a mere inch away from Windu’s throat.

“What did you just say about my Master?” Anakin bares his teeth, his expression darkening and his eyes blazing with rage.

A shadow of fear momentarily flashes across Mace Windu’s usually self-assured face.

Anakin sneers.

“You’re gonna regret this, Master Windu.”

“Anakin, no,” his Master’s voice gently admonishes, giving his Padawan a softened look of disapproval that makes Anakin’s skin crawl.

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He hates to just let it slide.

How dare this smug bastard question his Master’s teaching methods?

But Anakin knows exactly how to differentiate between his Master’s suggestions and commands.

Sometimes it’s an annoyed but slightly amused Anakin, no! and it means Anakin, (maybe) yes.

But when it is pronounced in that calm but firm and demanding baritone, then Anakin, no means Anakin, no. And Anakin obeys the order without questions, every time dreading to hear the unspoken Bad Anakin! Bad!

His Master is called the Negotiator for a reason. The gift to thrill souls with simple words has turned into a sword in his hands. And he wields it – sharp, and merciless, and deadly. But when those words are addressed to him, his stubborn apprentice, they are always soft and gentle. And it’s even worse. Because then the words are a slow poison – and Anakin is completely entranced by them, utterly wrecked even by the sound of his own name. Because only Master knows how to say it just right – in his posh Coruscanti accent.

Ah-nakin.

Like a crack of a whip.

No wonder something snaps in Anakin every time his Master addresses him and gives him an order. He suddenly feels this urge to echo it back and do exactly as he was told. And not only is he ready to comply – he is addicted to it. Almost on the verge of begging for more. Because his entire being shudders in pleasure every time he gets the chance to bow his head and mutter his obedient Yes, Master.

He thirsts for that feeling. He craves to see his Master’s approving smile. He longs for his Master’s praise.

Good boy, Anakin, he will say.

And Anakin will be ecstatic, completely enraptured and mesmerized by those simple words. He will do anything to deserve them.

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“Anakin, no.”

“As you wish, Master.” His lips pressed tight but his head bowed in submission – Anakin, no – Anakin lowers the lightsaber and steps back from Windu.

He is immediately rewarded with his Master’s hand tousling his short hair in an affectionate gesture.

Anakin fights the urge to butt into that hand and purr like a giant Loth-cat at the touch. He just lets out a content sigh as his eyelids droop under Windu’s shocked stare.

“Your–” Windu chokes with indignation. “Your Padawan has just attacked me! I’ll have him arrested for this!”

“You shall not.” His Master’s voice sounds to Anakin as calm and serene as ever, but there is something dangerous about the way he tilts his head to the side just slightly. “You shall go to the Council and let them know the famed Negotiator has rejected the Naboo mission in order to provide better guidance for his apprentice, the Chosen One.”

Windu’s jaw muscles clench along with his fists.

“Who do you think you are to give me orders, Kenobi? Do you really think that being a teacher to this insolent brat somehow makes you entitled? He’s only allowed in here to be the shield for the Temple in case something goes wrong with the prophecy. He is not your…your flaming sword of righteousness.”

Anakin only gets a one-second warning, barely enough for him to turn his head to his Master, when he sees a blast of Light sending a wave of blinding whiteness in all directions from the man.

The platform shakes under Anakin’s feet, and he struggles to stay upright but almost immediately falls to the ground, pressing his hands to his ears, too overwhelmed by the sudden loss of sight and the high-pitched beeeeeeeeeep sound, piercing through his entire being.

Completely shell-shocked and disoriented, Anakin doesn’t know how long he stays like that. All he knows is that he shouldn’t fight it. He should just wait it out. It’s not him the Light is angry at.

It all stops as suddenly as it started.

Anakin relaxes his scrunched-up face and lets his hands fall from covering his ears to support his weight on the ground.

The first thing he sees when the black and white snow of dots clouding his vision finally disappears, is his Master’s figure, towering over Windu’s shaking form sprawled at his feet and fumbling in a futile attempt to get up.

The realization hits Anakin like a Star Destroyer: this – this thing is what lies under his Master’s always unflappable attitude. And all that cool and distant demeanor of his is not at all a manifestation of his perfect Jedi serenity. It is an embodiment of his ruthless, calculating control. And that blast – that blast was but a mere glimpse of what might happen when that control is lost, when Obi-Wan Kenobi is not…contained.

His Master’s face looks completely dispassionate as he addresses Windu and a light, warm smile touches his lips in a shocking contrast to his firm voice, which makes Anakin’s knees go weak even though he is already kneeling on the ground.

“My apprentice is what I say he is.”