Chapter Text
Anakin and Obi-Wan were fighting again. Well, it was more like Anakin was screaming at Obi-Wan while the latter stared at him impassively and occasionally tried to get a word in edgewise. This always happened when Ahsoka wasn’t there to mediate, but she was back on Coruscant catching up on classwork.
Nobody remembered what the original point of the argument was anymore, and it didn’t really matter. Every single one ended the same—with Anakin screaming that Obi-Wan didn’t understand him, didn’t trust him.
This time, however, was different. Anakin had just gotten off a call with the Chancellor, where he had been describing the situation (no, he was not complaining). His friend had brought up some extremely valid points, which he was explaining to his former master quite loudly in the middle of the bridge on the Negotiator.
“I just can’t believe you would do this to me, to Ahsoka!” Anakin was screaming.
“Anakin, please, I don’t know how many times I can apologize. It was never my intention to cause you so much distress. However, I have already explained my reasons for making the choice I did. What more do you want me to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Master,” Anakin responded snidely. “Rack your brains. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Anakin, pl—” Obi-Wan tried, but Anakin cut him off.
“NO! You know what, Obi-Wan? I’m done! You’ve never understood me! You never trusted me. Not when I was a boy, not now. You’ve always wanted to control me, sabotage me, and stop me from being the great Jedi we both know I am! You’ve always been jealous—jealous that Master Qui-Gon saw what you never could. He would have chosen me. Not you.”
Obi-Wan’s composure faltered, just for a heartbeat. Anakin’s words had hit their mark, deep and cruel. His jaw tightened, but when he spoke again, his tone was as calm as ever—too calm. “Anakin, tha—” Obi-Wan tried again. However, Anakin interrupted him again. He was on a roll now.
“No! It’s true, and the Chancellor agrees with me!” Obi-Wan visibly flinched at the mention of Palpatine. Anakin knew he didn’t like the man, which solidified his knowledge that Obi-Wan was clearly in the wrong. How could anybody not like the chancellor? He was always so kind to Anakin and always understood when his master didn’t.
“Anakin, the Chancellor does not see all the angles. You must—" But Anakin cut him off again. He wouldn’t hear a word against Palpatine, who supported him when nobody else did. He knew how to hurt Obi-Wan, and he was angry enough to say it.
“I KNOW that if Qui-Gon had survived, if you hadn’t been so slow, so weak, that day on Naboo, he never would have done this. He would have found a different way.” Obi-Wan’s face had crumbled, but Anakin hadn’t even noticed. He was ready to deliver the killing blow.
“Maybe it would have been better if you stayed dead.”
And with that, Anakin turned on his heel and stormed off the bridge. Obi-Wan stood frozen, a look of shock and a strange emotion the others couldn’t read on his face. Then, he schooled his features once again into the blank face of the Negotiator.
“Back to work, please, everybody,” he said, before striding away.
Anakin was mad—no, furious. Obi-Wan just made him feel so angry. He hated how impassive he was. He wanted him to just scream back, but the man never raised his voice. He was so calm and collected. So in control of his emotions. He was, as everyone said, the perfect Jedi. Anakin hated it.
Obi-Wan was everything he wasn’t. This was why he could never tell him about Padmé, about the Sandpeople, about his mother, or about all of the darkness he struggled to force down. His old master would never understand him the way his Angel did, the way the Chancellor did.
He could still hear the Chancellor’s voice from their call earlier, smooth and reassuring: ‘Your talents are wasted under such rigid command, my boy. Obi-Wan’s fear of you blinds him.’ His old master never listened. Never saw him. Not like Padmé, not like the Chancellor, who always praised him and always told him he was destined for more.
Still fuming, Anakin wandered back to his quarters, realizing too late that he was sharing with Obi-Wan while on the Negotiator.
Figures.
Deciding to lock himself in his room for the rest of the night and brood, he punched the code into the door and stormed inside, hands clenched into fists. He needed to hit something. Anything.
Anakin’s metal hand slammed into the wall before he could stop himself, the slam echoing through the tiny quarters. A nearby shelf rattled violently, spilling its contents across the floor in a clatter.
“Kriff,” he muttered furiously, bending down to inspect the mess. That was when he saw it. A datapad had slid out from beneath a stack of flimsi. Unlike the others, this one was old, its casing scuffed, and its corners worn down. Curiosity flared—and then froze.
Across the top of the screen, in neat, precise lettering, read:
The Diary of Obi-Wan Kenobi
Anakin stared at it, his anger momentarily replaced by bewilderment. A diary? Obi-Wan kept a diary?
For a heartbeat, he considered putting it back. It wasn’t his, and he knew how furious he would be at his former master if he found him snooping in his things. But then Palpatine’s smooth voice echoed in his mind: ‘Obi-Wan fears you. He hides things from you. He doesn’t trust you.’
Slowly, Anakin’s frown shifted into something darker. If Obi-Wan truly trusted him, why hide this? What secrets had he kept locked away while lecturing Anakin about honesty? The temptation was unbearable. Besides, maybe he could collect more blackmail to use in their inevitable next arguments.
Anakin brought the datapad to his room and sat down on his bed with it, flash fingers hovering over the screen. His pulse quickened. He told himself he was just… checking. Just confirming what he already knew—that Obi-Wan was a hypocrite. That he was jealous of Anakin. That he didn’t trust him with anything. That he still saw him as a child. This would make it fair.
And before his rational mind could stop him, he tapped the first file. The screen lit up, displaying a date—over twenty-five standard years ago. Long before Anakin had even been brought to Coruscant.
A thrill ran through him, mingled with something darker. Whatever this was, it wasn’t meant for him. Which meant it was all the more important that he saw it.
And with a sharp breath, Anakin began to read.