Getting over the shock of realizing that the Chancellor himself was the very Sith lord they had been hunting, the man he had let Anakin go to even as a young man had been a hard one to Obi-Wan, dazed and frozen him at the same time.

He hadn’t even put up a struggle as the chains slowly but steadily got pulled up until he was standing on his feet with his hands now restrained to the wall.

He couldn’t… wrap his head around the fact that the Chancellor of the Republic, the man Anakin had once trusted, the highest power in the Republic and supposed leader of them was the Sith.

The one they had hunted.

The one Anakin had gone to for advice for so long.

Oh, Obi-Wan felt sick to his stomach, the throbbing of his head nothing against the throbbing in his heart as he thought of what his brother and friend would think once he learned this.

Palpatine caught sight of his face and laughed, his voice a low cackle, sliding over Obi-Wan’s skin like oil on water.

It left him disgusted even as he pressed his chapped lips together.

“A fitting expression though the lack of sound is bothering me Kenobi, I thought you were known for your sass.” The Chancellor and Sith leered at him.

Obi-Wan said nothing, didn’t know what to say.

This was not like meeting Dooku, Ventress or even Grievous in the field.

There was familiarity in them, the knowledge of what they wanted and that it wasn’t pure evil, the knowledge that if push came to shove, Dooku would kill him before torture, that Ventress hated him because of how much he reminded her of her Jedi master, that Grievous saw Obi-Wan as his equal due to their battle prowess.

And all of them would give him death.

This man would not, the man in front of him…

Obi-Wan knew what he was going to do.

The knowledge didn’t make what was about to happen any better to bear. The knowledge that he was about to be tortured for his tears and Force knew what else the Sith would do.

When Ventress had tortured him, it had solely been about his pain and not his tears and the few times he had seen her even after the knowledge of his race had come out, she hadn’t seemed…

There had been no indication that she hungered after his tears.

And Dooku?

Obi-Wan knew that the man still had his tear.  ‘

It had been a strange thing, to stretch out to the tears he had cried, cautiously and finding one on the Count.

Like a token, a memory kept and hidden from others.

It was enough to make Obi-Wan aware that Dooku, for all other things, would be merciful and kill Obi-Wan.

Dragged out of his thoughts as his hair was gripped and his head bent back, Obi-Wan hissed in pain as his scalp stung, barely able to see the Chancellor from the corner of his eyes even as they remained dry.

He was too used to pain for this to break him.

“You must be aware how painfully difficult it is to get ones hands on your tears unless you’re a Jedi,” Palpatine said in a faux cheerful tone, his eyes glittering yellow as Obi-Wan felt a few hairs being ripped out of his scalp. “Yet I managed to get a few out of… hilts.” Palpatine smirked and Obi-Wan felt something mournful in his chest.

He knew what that implied.

Dead Jedi’s stolen sabers, his tears taken from the hilts.

He hissed as Palpatine shook his head, the throbbing of his head getting worse at it and yet he kept his eye on what little of Palpatine he could see. “And yet, to my shock, I found that your tears could not bleed, regardless how much darkness I put through it…they remained light.” Palpatine hissed at him and Obi-Wan couldn’t help a little broken but victorious laugh.

It cut off abruptly as Palpatine smirked, a slimy sensation settling in Obi-Wan’s gut only for horror to bloom at the next words. “But you have more body fluids than your tears star child.” Leaning in Palpatine whispered, the fetid heat of his breath washing over Obi-Wan’s cheek as the cold durasteel of a knife scraped almost lazily against Obi-Wan’s throat.

Unable to help himself, Obi-Wan felt himself tear up, trembling, his memory thrown back to darker days, to days when he was scared and broken.

He couldn’t help but think of Qui-Gon’s gentle hands and concerned eyes.

Of Anakin’s arms winded tightly around Obi-Wan, his chin on Obi-Wan’s head as he promised protection.

Of both of their sadness at Obi-Wan’s scars and how they’d feel about the scars Obi-Wan was about to gain, about the pain he’d endure.

Slowly, a tear tracked down his cheek and dripped as all his tears did, transforming midair with a soft sheen of light as the knife dug into his throat.

And so the Sith laughed at the pitiful display of the already tormented star child in his grasp.

‘Anakin… I’m sorry. I love you.’ Obi-Wan clenched his eyes shut, gasping as Palpatine dug sharp metal and drew blood.