"Duty"
Rating: PG
Bail asks Obi-Wan to meet with some senators who believe that all is not well in the Republic.
It was late when Obi-Wan arrived at Bail's apartment. Bail was not there, even though it was well past the hour when decent people should be home and getting ready for bed. But this was not uncommon anymore. Even when Obi-Wan was on Coruscant, living in Bail's home, he scarcely saw the prince.
He let himself in, the familiar comforts of the apartment welcoming him. The Temple scarcely seemed like home anymore, with so many people out in the field. Anakin was not there. He had not seen Anakin in weeks, maybe even months. His padawan was needed in the Republic Star Fleet. How that boy loved flying! But he was not a boy anymore. He was a man. A stranger.
He knew he should worry about that. Something was happening to his padawan. Anakin's sense of commitment to the order was loosening. He enjoyed his position as a fleet captain too much. And there was something more... something Obi-Wan could not identify and was afraid to think about. But what was he afraid of? He didn't know. If only they had time. If only he and Anakin could sit down together, spend just three days not having to worry about the war or anything else. But these days that was an impossible dream. Obi-Wan had no control over anything, least of all his own padawan. The war came first now. The war demanded the attention that by rights belonged to his padawan. The council acknowledged this. They sanctioned it. Hell, they demanded it. It worried and frightened Obi-Wan, but it was out of his hands. His duty was to obey orders, no matter how unprecedented, no matter how much they flew in the face of all he had ever known, all the Jedi had ever stood for.
But here, Bail's apartment -- this was familiar, a haven against all the changes in the galaxy. He shrugged out of his coat, let it fall to the living room floor. He didn't care. It was a general's coat, not a Jedi's cloak. It was just a piece of clothing. Let it get wrinkled.
His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his uniform's tight collar as he crossed the room to the liquor cabinet. He reached for the bottle of brandy instead of the red wine he usually preferred. Bail liked this brandy. It was too strong for Obi-Wan, but right now he wanted to taste Bail. He poured out a glass, and his hand shook, the amber liquid sloshing in the glass and spilling onto the counter top. Obi-Wan cursed his clumsiness, soaking up the mess with the sleeve of his uniform.
He sipped from the glass as he walked around the room, reveling in its luxuries. How had he ever once thought Bail's tastes were too rich? It had taken years, but he finally appreciated the value of self-indulgence. The cool, soothing tones of the room's color scheme. Works of art scattered here and there in a serendipitous display of beauty and grace. Marks of personality, of comfort. So different from the officers' barracks. So different from the bridge of a battleship. He could almost relax here. Almost.
He worked his way through the room, the tension in his muscles easing as the alcohol infused his body. He stripped away memories of the battlefield as he shed his uniform, letting it all fall to the thickly carpeted floor. Passing into the bedroom, he swallowed the last sip of brandy and crawled into the large bed, sliding between the cool sheets. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
He woke to a soft touch on his face. His eyes blinked open and he looked up to see Bail next to him, leaning on one elbow, stroking his face. "I didn't mean to wake you," the prince apologized.
"I'm glad you did," Obi-Wan murmured, sliding closer to Bail, wrapping his arms around his waist.
"You looked like you could really use the sleep."
"I could," Obi-Wan admitted, nuzzling his face against Bail's chest. "But seeing you is better."
Bail's fingers stroked into his hair, massaging his scalp. "It was that bad?"
Obi-Wan didn't want to think about it, let alone talk about it. He pressed closer to Bail. "Yes," he said at last.
Bail lay back, gathering Obi-Wan in his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Go to sleep, love."
He did.
Morning came far too quickly. They both rose at first light, accustomed as they were now to only a few hours of sleep a night. Bail had picked up Obi-Wan's uniform and laid it out neatly on a chair, but Obi-Wan shunned it. He rifled through his things in the closet, finding some civilian clothes to wear, something non-partisan. He didn't want to be either a Jedi or a General right now.
When he had dressed, he left the bedroom to find Bail already eating breakfast, a sweet roll in one hand, datapad in the other. Bail looked up as he took a seat and poured himself some juice. "How long are you back for?"
"A week," Obi-Wan answered. "I'm supposed to be on furlough." As if one week was enough for him to recover from the war. An involuntary tremor racked through him, and he almost dropped his glass. Bail noticed, but mercifully said nothing. Obi-Wan should be able to control these physical reactions, nervous tics, shaking hands, tremors, but he couldn't. The only time his body functioned properly anymore was when he was in battle. Only then did the perpetual fog in his mind fully lift. How long had it been since he had truly meditated? Every time he tried, he just fell asleep. It disturbed him that he had so quickly lost the ability to meditate, something he'd been doing since he was three years old. It disturbed him, but he couldn't afford to think about it too much. Meditation was just something else from the old ways slipping away. And when had Jedi practices become "the old ways"?
"How is Anakin?" Bail asked.
"He was fine, the last time I saw him," Obi-Wan answered. "It's been a while. He's making quite a name for himself in the Star Fleet."
"I know. He's received another commendation from the Chancellor himself. They say he's quite a prodigy."
Obi-Wan drew his finger through the juice he had spilled on the table. "That's my padawan." He shook himself and looked up. "How is your father?"
Bail didn't answer at first. He poured out some tea for Obi-Wan, stirring in some honey and handing him the cup. "Not well," Bail finally said, his voice calm but subdued. "He still won't admit it out loud, but he knows he's dying. Mother says they've decided to stop the treatments. They were making him sicker than the disease. It's just a matter of time now."
"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan murmured.
Bail looked away for a moment. "Maybe it's for the best. He's had a good, long life. I don't want him to see what the Republic is coming to."
Obi-Wan stared down at his cup, afraid to pick it up, lest he drop it. Everything was slipping away, and his hands shook too hard these days to hold onto anything. Fortunately he didn't have to hold onto his emotions. The numbing fog in his mind took care of that, enveloping him in a thick blanket that kept his feelings at bay. He ought to feel something more for Vilnis than this distant grief, but Bail was probably right. Vilnis was too gentle a man for this new age. Maybe it was good that Obi-Wan hadn't seen him in years. He could remember him in a happier time.
They finished their breakfast in silence. "I have to go," Bail announced. "Can you meet me at the office for lunch?"
Obi-Wan nodded. Bail leaned over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I'll see you later, then."
Bail took them someplace new for lunch, a tiny, dark little restaurant. The midday light shone murkily through windows that looked as if they hadn't been washed since before Obi-Wan became a padawan. An array of mismatched chairs were clustered around wobbly tables, and the air smelled of old grease, but the place was packed. They were led to a booth in the back corner, where the waiter wiped down their table with a filthy rag. He nodded at Bail. "The usual?" he asked.
Bail nodded back. "Yes, please. For both of us."
Once the waiter had departed, Obi-Wan confessed, "I'm not seeing the appeal this place has for you."
"It has hidden qualities," Bail said cryptically. Obi-Wan glanced a question at him. "After our meal arrives," Bail instructed.
They both fell silent, and Obi-Wan grew nervous. This wasn't right. Bail should be talking, he should be talking. They shouldn't be sitting here as if they had nothing to say. The need to speak pressed up in his throat, threatening to choke him, but he didn't know what to talk about. There were too many unsafe topics these days. But surely there was something Bail could say. Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "Tell me about --." He stopped, his mind blank. Desperately, he tried again. "Tell me --."
"Did you know my nephew is expecting his first child?" Bail offered.
Obi-Wan sighed softly, leaning back in his seat. Thank heavens Bail could still fill up a silence. "Which nephew?" Obi-Wan asked.
"The one who's married," replied Bail. "Pico."
Obi-Wan frowned in consternation. "When did he get married?"
"Years ago," Bail supplied. He didn't rebuke Obi-Wan for not remembering.
"Pico, a father," Obi-Wan remarked with fond amazement. "Is it a boy or girl?"
"Probably." Bail flashed him a wry grin.
They gossiped for the next several minutes about Bail's family, until the waiter appeared with their meal, two bowls of greasy soup and some sandwiches on suspiciously gray bread.
When the waiter left, Bail said, "I hate to bring up politics but... could I ask you something?"
Obi-Wan stirred his soup, watching the swirls of grease. "I have no political opinions," he answered automatically.
Bail gave him a disbelieving smile. "Everyone has political opinions these days, they just won't admit it. Have you heard of the Emergency Measures Act?"
Obi-Wan looked away, studying a Gotal in a nearby booth. "Yes."
"What do you think of it?"
"I'm a general in the Republic army. I have no political opinions," Obi-Wan asserted, but it sound weak even to his own ears.
"Do you know what the implications of that act are, not only for the war, but for our government?" When Obi-Wan said nothing, Bail continued, "The Chancellor is consolidating power."
Still Obi-Wan remained silent. He knew what was happening. He also knew that it wasn't wise to go around voicing opposition to the government. People who did were often mistaken for separatist sympathisizers. He knew Bail didn't like the Chancellor, but still.... "Is it really safe to talk about this here?"
Bail answered with a tight smile. "I told you this place has hidden qualities. Why do you think I brought you here? It certainly wasn't for the soggy sandwiches."
Obi-Wan glanced down at his meal. He didn't really feel hungry anymore.
"Some people fear the Chancellor has become too powerful," Bail continued. "Some people would go so far as to say that the army you serve in belongs to the Chancellor and not the Republic."
Obi-Wan shot Bail a sharp glance. "Is that what you say?"
Bail shrugged. "I'm merely reporting when I hear. There are some people who question the legality of this war."
Obi-Wan leaned forward across the table, barely containing his fury. "And who authorized this war, I wonder? The Senate started this; they can finish it."
Bail studied him. "How?" he asked in a quiet voice.
"Pass another act! That's what you do, isn't it?"
Bail sidestepped the accusation. "Some people say it's too late to stop the war by democratic means."
"Oh, that's fucking rich!" Obi-Wan scoffed. "The politicians created this mess, and now they say they can't get out of it?"
"If the Chancellor controls the army, then he is the only one who can stop it." Bail regarded Obi-Wan closely, his eyes dark and unreadable. "What would you call people who want to use extra-governmental means to try to stop the Chancellor?"
"Extra-governmental? One war isn't enough for you?" Obi-Wan retorted. "Or do you side with the separatists now?"
"You know I don't," Bail snapped. "But I do not accept that there are only two choices, the separatists or the Chancellor. Some people might argue that active opposition to the current Chancellor would actually be a sign of loyalty to the Republic."
"Which people are you talking about? You mean you? Is that what you believe?"
Bail leaned forward now, grabbing Obi-Wan's wrist, his eyes burning. "I'm talking about you, General. What would you say to such a view? You're on the front lines, you know a hell of a lot better than any of us here on Coruscant what this war is really about. You know how much has truly been lost. What would you say?"
Those shudders were back. Obi-Wan could feel the muscles in his arm twitch beneath Bail's hand. He felt tired, weak. "I serve at the Council's bidding."
Bail jerked on his wrist. "Would you call these people traitors? Would you see it as your duty to turn them over to the security forces?"
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, trying to still the tremors. A threat to the Chancellor was a threat to the Republic, and should be reported as such. But this was Bail talking. Bail, for whom democracy was practically a religion. Bail, who was now speaking words of treason. They were living in an age of paradox, but this was going too far. Bail's words wove cobwebs in Obi-Wan's mind. He could never untangle all the threads and sort out what he owed to whom. Thinking at all just made his head hurt worse. He didn't know anymore whether his primary loyalty lay with the Republic, the army, or the Jedi. He wasn't even sure he trusted any of them anymore. But he trusted Bail. Despite all the other changes in the galaxy, he knew Bail. He would never betray him. "No," he confessed at last. "I wouldn't turn them in."
Bail's hand loosened on his wrist, stroking up his arm, soothing. Obi-Wan felt his arm muscles relax slightly under the touch. "Would you be willing to listen to such people, just hear what they have to say?"
One more call to duty. He had so many already: duties to the Jedi, to the Republic, to the army, to Anakin -- wherever he was. "Secret missions," they told him. Why wasn't he allowed to know where his own padawan was? All these duties increasingly came into conflict with one another, and now Bail wanted to foist another duty off on him. And what category did this one come under, duty of conscience? "It's not my place," he resisted. "Why are you asking this of me?"
Bail's eyes were so intense, so soft, Obi-Wan wanted to drown in them. "Because I know you'll tell the truth. They want to hear what a general has seen. They want to know what a Jedi has to say."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "I can't speak for the Jedi Order." He didn't want to speak for them.
"You don't have to. Just tell us what you think."
"As a general I am not allowed to disclose military secrets."
"Speak at your discretion. All we ask is that you listen to us, that you be honest, and most importantly that you not betrayal our confidence." Bail stroked Obi-Wan's arm again, as if trying to coax him. "Will you do that?"
Obi-Wan rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. His head throbbed angrily. But Bail's touch on his arm felt reassuring, blessedly familiar. "All right," he sighed at last.
"I don't ask this of you lightly."
"I know. I just wish you hadn't asked me at all."
Bail nodded. "There are a lot of things I wish did not have to happen."
That was one statement with which Obi-Wan was in hearty agreement.
That night Obi-Wan stood at a cab dock outside Bail's building. Bail had given him elaborate instructions about a certain cab that would pick him up and take him to the meeting place, password and everything. Obi-Wan almost laughed. He had engaged in this kind of skullduggery before, many years ago on missions. It was absurd to hear this kind of spy gaming come out of Bail's mouth. What did the senators think they were playing at?
The cab arrived as planned, and dropped him off at the same restaurant where he and Bail had had lunch that day. The waiter instantly recognized him and led him back into the murky depths of the restaurant. There, out of sight, Bail was waiting for him, his expression sober. Without a word, he led Obi-Wan through a long, dark hallway, finally opening the door onto a small room, garishly lit by a bare florescent bulb. Three senators were seated around a dusty table of flaking plasticene. Obi-Wan did not recognize two of them, but the third he knew quite well.
Padmé.
What was she doing here? Did his padawan know about this? He sincerely doubted it, as Anakin was an ardent supporter of Palpatine. Padmé regarded him calmly, her dark eyes grave and intense. Obi-Wan suppressed a wave of irrational loathing. She no doubt saw Anakin far more often than he did.
The three senators stood in greeting as Bail introduced him. "General Obi-Wan Kenobi has graciously agreed to meet with us and hear our concerns," he said, for all the world as if he were at a book club and not an illegal, insurrectionist meeting. Nodding to him, Bail continued, "General, this is Senator Garm Bel Iblis of Corellia, Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrilla, and of course you already know Senator Amidala."
Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing in Padmé's direction. She bowed curtly to him, and they all took their seats.
"General," Bail said, staying graciously formal, "as you know, our current political climate is ambiguous at best. The four of us gathered here know that something must be done, but we are not in agreement on the problem or how to address it. One of the difficulties we face is that much of the information about the war is classified. We are therefore eager to hear whatever you can tell us."
Obi-Wan nodded and began speaking. He kept the details sparse at first, but before long he was telling them things he previously had only told the Jedi Council. His official government reports were always censored. It was cathartic to finally tell someone what was actually happening -- the sentient rights abuses, the excessive use of force, the shockingly high casualty rates.
The senators listened attentively, exchanging glances with each other as his narrative continued. Obi-Wan could sense the tension in the room. They might be allies, but they were clearly not all friends. Their questions, when they asked them, were curt and direct. Obi-Wan guessed that they all had their suspicions about what was really going on, but they were still deeply troubled to have those suspicions confirmed.
At last Bel Iblis interrupted him, scowling sourly. "You call yourself a Jedi, yet you can participate in such a war."
"It was the Senate that called upon the Jedi to lead the army," Obi-Wan retorted. "I fulfill my duty as you requested."
With a reproving glance at Bel Iblis, Padmé spoke up. "General, these reports are of great concern to us. We fear that this war, which was begun in order to counter the threats of the separatists, has superseded its mandate."
"Then recall the army," Obi-Wan spat.
"Easier said than done," Mon Mothma observed. "The army no longer answers to the Senate but to the Chancellor."
Padmé continued, "All of the changes that have taken place within the Republic trace back to Palpatine. We believe he is the root of the problem."
"The Chancellor has always been strictly legal in his actions," Obi-Wan pointed out. "What would you accuse him of?"
Padmé's eyes narrowed. "That's the trick, isn't it? Technically speaking, every change he's made has gone through proper channels. He's either an honest man, doing his best to fight the separatist threat and protect the Republic, or he is using people's fears of the separatists to consolidate his own power."
Bel Iblis shifted in his chair and snorted, "If Palpatine's an honest man, then I'm a gundark!"
Ignoring him, Obi-Wan asked, "What evidence do you have to back your suspicions?"
"We have none," Bail admitted. "I doubt any hard evidence even exists. It's a judgment call."
The senators' concerns only confirmed Obi-Wan's own apprehension about what was going on in the Republic, but it did not tell him what to do about it. "So what are you proposing?"
Bel Iblis spoke up, his expression stern. "The Jedi claim to serve the Republic. How far would they go toward countering this threat from within?"
Obi-Wan glanced around the table at the tense faces of the senators before replying, "I'm not sure what you're asking."
"If we remove the Chancellor," Bel Iblis clarified, "we remove the threat to the Republic."
Shocked, Obi-Wan asked, "Are you suggesting a coup?"
"And who do you think would back it, Garm?" Mon Mothma snapped. "Starting another war is not going to help matters."
"If we act quickly, it won't come to that," Bel Iblis retorted. "An all-out coup is not necessary at this stage. Perhaps I should be more clear." He turned to Obi-Wan, his eyes hard. "Eliminate the Chancellor, and you eliminate the threat."
"Assassination?" Obi-Wan echoed. "I beg your pardon, but you go too far. The Jedi are not assassins!"
"You're not assassins, but you are butchers!" Bel Iblis accused. "I wonder at your moral purity, General. The Jedi will not kill to remove an evil tyrant from office, but you will kill obeying that tyrant's orders. Millions have died in this war, at the hands of an army commanded by Jedi!"
"That's enough, Garm!" Bail rebuked. Beneath the table, he lay a hand on Obi-Wan's knee, but Obi-Wan shook him off. The senator's accusations set his stomach roiling. He could not respond. The shuddering was back, so bad his teeth chattered in his jaw.
Ignoring Bail, Bel Iblis gestured to the others. "I was right: the Jedi have been co-opted, too. We cannot count on their support."
"Garm --," Bail warned.
"Even the Jedi are Palpatine's pawns. Mothma, Amidala, can't you see that? Surely you can understand what this means?"
"How dare you!" Obi-Wan seethed. "Who elected Palpatine? The Senate. Who gave him his power? The Senate. Who established this army and asked the Jedi to head it? The Senate! The Jedi are non-partisan. It is not our place to determine governments. That's your role. We only serve!"
Bel Iblis' eyes flashed in anger. "If the Jedi serve this 'Republic,' then they are traitors as much as Palpatine is! The blood spilled in this war is on your hands, General. You cannot absolve yourself of guilt by saying you were only following orders."
Obi-Wan shot to his feet as the four senators exploded into argument. He wanted to launch himself at Bel Iblis, beat him, strangle him. His muscles -- unable to rest, unable to relax -- ached for action, no matter how brutal.
Amid the shouting, Bail grabbed his arm and steadily pulled on him, dragging him out of the room and down the hall, stopping only when they were well away and could no longer hear the senators shouting at each other.
Obi-Wan trembled violently, barely able to stand. So cold, he was always so cold these days, so tired, his brain so fuzzy. But one thing was clear in his mind. His voice shaking so badly he could scarcely get the words out, he accused, "Is this what you've come to? Advocating assassination?"
Bail winced. "Garm speaks only for himself."
"What happened to all your ideals? You believed in democracy. And yet you ally yourself with such people?"
"We no longer live in a democracy," Bail snapped. "I don't agree with everything my colleagues say, but I must at least listen to them."
Obi-Wan clutched at his hair, trying to still his trembling hands. "I don't believe you. I don't believe what I heard in there. And you, of all people! I don't know you anymore!"
Bail's eyes grew mournful, his hands raised toward Obi-Wan. "Please don't say that. I can't bear it. I don't know myself anymore. I don't know you or this army that you serve, an army of butchers in the Republic's name. What have we become? It's gotten so bad now that I must consider the unthinkable."
Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands, his breathing ragged. He felt Bail's hands on his shoulders, cautious at first, as if he was afraid Obi-Wan would strike out at him. But Obi-Wan did not move, only stood there shaking, and the grip grew stronger. "Do you believe the Jedi are traitors, too? Would you have me become an assassin?"
"No, of course not, but I --." Bail stopped, resting his head against Obi-Wan's, temple to temple. "I don't know what to do, Ben. And I think the Jedi are as lost in this as we are."
It wasn't quite the reassurance Obi-Wan could have hoped for, but Bail was right. The Jedi were lost, and he had no idea what to do, either. It was strangely comforting to hear someone say it aloud, the secret fear he had been carrying for months now.
"I'm afraid for you, Ben," Bail whispered, stroking his hair almost frantically. "I'm afraid for all of us, but above all for you out in that war. I want you here on Coruscant with me. I want you safe."
Obi-Wan surrendered himself to Bail's embrace, and his trembling slowly eased. "Is Coruscant safe?" he asked, his voice almost steady now.
"No," Bail admitted. He gave a short laugh. "No, it's not safe. I'm just being selfish."
Obi-Wan wanted to be here, wanted Anakin here as well. No, not here on Coruscant; on Alderaan. He wanted to see Vilnis again before he died, to speak Old High Galactic and discuss epic poetry. He wanted to meditate, to practice katas with his padawan, to teach classes on conflict mediation, to return to the days when lightsabers were seldom ignited outside the training salle, and Jedi in the field armed themselves with words, not weapons. Jedi were never meant to be soldiers. They had no place in any army, but the Council, at the bidding of the Senate, demanded this of him. He no longer knew what he was fighting for, what he was defending. All he cared about were the people he seldom saw anymore. He wanted to run away, to take his padawan and go to Alderaan with Bail, but that was not a choice he could make.
He was a Jedi. He had a duty to fulfill, and he would honor it. Let Bail plot insurrection. Let Padmé oppose Palpatine. He would go back to the war, because that was what he was required to do.
~ fin ~