Chapter Text
Antarctica was not empty.
That was the lie Anakin Skywalker had told himself when he’d signed on as pilot for Outpost 31. Empty meant quiet. Empty meant still. Empty meant safe.
But the wind howled like something alive, clawing at the metal walls, rattling bolts loose in his chest. It screamed through the white nothingness, a sound that seeped into his bones and stayed there, even when the engines were off and the base lights hummed low and tired.
Anakin didn’t tolerate isolation well. He never had.
The base was too small, the corridors too narrow, the days folding in on themselves without shape or meaning. No horizon. No escape. Just white outside, white inside his head. He slept badly. He woke worse. His hands shook when he thought no one was looking.
Only one thing anchored him.
Dr. Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Obi-Wan moved through the base like he belonged to it—calm, contained, a steady presence amid the mess of men and machinery. He spoke softly, even when delivering bad news. Especially then. His eyes missed very little.
Anakin watched him constantly. He hated himself for it.
Obi-Wan had a way of touching people when he spoke to them—hand to wrist, fingers briefly at a shoulder. Unthinking, probably. Professional. It undid Anakin every time.
He told himself it meant nothing.
He told himself a lot of lies.
⸻
It happened on a day so ordinary it hurt.
Anakin was outside General Windu—check a fuel line when he heard the helicopter first. A distant thrum, cutting through the wind. Wrong. Too fast. Too urgent.
Then the gunshots.
The husky came tearing across the snow like it was running for its life—because it was. White fur streaked with red, tongue lolling, eyes wild. Behind it, a Norwegian helicopter swooped low, dangerously low, a man leaning out the side with a rifle, shouting words none of them understood.
“Hey!” Anakin yelled, stepping forward without thinking. “Hey—!”
The rifle cracked.
The sound punched the air apart.
For one horrifying second, Anakin was certain the bullet was meant for him.
He froze.
His body betrayed him completely—heat, humiliation, terror flooding down his legs as his bladder gave out. He couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Another shot.
Then Mace’s voice—sharp, commanding—and the thunder of return fire. The Norwegian fell. The helicopter spiraled out, vanishing in a plume of fire and snow.
Silence followed. Thick. Smothering.
Anakin stood shaking, urine freezing against his skin, the husky pressed against his legs, whining softly.
Someone laughed, uneasy. Someone else swore.
Anakin didn’t hear them.
He stared at the blood staining the snow and thought, distantly, I almost died. I almost died and all I did was piss myself.
Later, Obi-Wan found him in the infirmary showers, fully clothed, water running cold and relentless.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said gently. “You’ll catch hypothermia.”
Anakin looked up, eyes red, jaw clenched. “I don’t care.”
Obi-Wan turned the water warmer, efficient, careful not to touch more than necessary. But his presence wrapped around Anakin like a blanket.
“You were brave,” Obi-Wan said.
“No,” Anakin whispered. “I was scared.”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied quietly. “That’s usually how bravery works.”
Something in Anakin cracked then. He pressed his forehead to the tile and shook.
Obi-Wan stayed.
⸻
The dog was a mistake.
Anakin knew it from the beginning.
The husky followed him everywhere, slept outside his door, watched him with unsettling intelligence. Anakin dreamed of its eyes—too bright, too knowing.
When the screams came that night, they ripped through him like glass.
They found the handler split open, body warped into something obscene and wrong, flesh flowering into shapes that should not exist. Teeth where there should be none. Sounds that weren’t human.
Anakin vomited.
He couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t stop crying.
“It’s not real,” he kept saying. “It’s not—it can’t—”
Obi-Wan held him then. Fully. Arms tight, firm, grounding.
“I know,” Obi-Wan murmured into his hair. “I know. Breathe. Just breathe.”
Anakin clutched at him like a drowning man.
That night, the isolation finally won.
⸻
It wasn’t planned.
It was fear and exhaustion and too much adrenaline and Obi-Wan sitting beside Anakin’s bunk long after everyone else had gone, speaking softly about nothing at all.
“You can stay,” Anakin said, voice raw. “Please.”
Obi-Wan hesitated. That was the moment. The one Anakin would replay endlessly later.
Then Obi-Wan stayed.
They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t need to. The cold pressed in from all sides, and Anakin shook, and Obi-Wan touched his face like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Afterward, when it was over and the silence returned, Obi-Wan pulled away.
“This was a mistake,” he said quietly.
The words hit harder than any bullet.
Anakin sat up, breath hitching, eyes bright with tears. “No,” he said fiercely. “No. You don’t get to say that.”
Obi-Wan turned, startled.
“I am not an easy fuck,” Anakin said, voice breaking. “I didn’t—this wasn’t—”
He folded in on himself, sobbing. “I meant it. I mean it. I love you.”
The word hung between them, fragile and terrible.
Obi-Wan said nothing.
In the distance, something moved through the vents.
And Antarctica listened.