Chapter 13: The Fractured Family Reunion
The polished marble floor of the foyer felt unnervingly solid beneath Brittany’s bare, rain-slick feet. A stark contrast to the churning chaos she’d left in the kitchen – the crackle of Anakin’s fury, Obi-Wan’s shattered composure, Tony’s panic, the clones' lethal stillness. Here, silence reigned, broken only by the steady, almost accusatory tick-tock of the antique grandfather clock and the fading rumble of the storm outside. The scent of jasmine from the pristine white bouquet on the glass coffee table was suddenly cloying, too sweet. Artificial.
She stood just inside the grand entrance, water dripping from her soaked clothes and hair, pooling darkly on the pale stone. She didn’t shiver. The cold was superficial. Inside, something hotter, darker, and infinitely more ancient simmered. Tony materialized instantly at her left shoulder, his usual playful demeanor replaced by sharp-edged vigilance. Fornell took position at her right, his expression grim, FBI posture radiating official disapproval. They flanked her like sentinels, a united front forged in the crucible of shared history and protective fury.
The heavy front door, which Gibbs had presumably closed behind him, swung open again. Not Gibbs. Abby Sciuto exploded through it first, her pigtails bouncing, eyes wide with frantic concern behind her dark makeup. "Brittany! Oh my god, your house! The storm! The news said—" Her words died as she took in the scene: Brittany, drenched and radiating icy fury, flanked by Tony and Fornell, their postures screaming hostility. Behind Abby, Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard stepped in, his kind face etched with deep worry, his medical bag hanging heavy in his hand. Jimmy Palmer hovered nervously behind Ducky, eyes darting everywhere, looking like he wished the marble floor would swallow him.
And then, Gibbs. He filled the doorway before stepping fully inside, closing the door with a controlled click that echoed in the sudden quiet. His sharp blue eyes scanned the foyer, the expensive, minimalist space, then landed immediately – unerringly – on Brittany. He saw the water, the rigid set of her shoulders, the way Tony and Fornell stood as extensions of her will. He saw the absolute absence of welcome in her eyes. His own expression, usually granite, flickered – a micro-expression of pain, swiftly buried beneath the familiar mask.
"Brittany," he stated, his voice low, gravelly. Just her name. It held no command, just a deep, weary acknowledgement.
Abby, undeterred by the tension, rushed forward, arms outstretched. "You're soaked! Are you hurt? The power outage, the structural damage reported—"
Brittany didn’t move. She didn’t look at Abby. Her gaze remained locked on Gibbs, unwavering. As Abby reached for her, Brittany held up a single hand, palm out. Not a push, just a barrier. Absolute. Final. Abby stumbled to a halt inches away, her arms falling limply to her sides, confusion and hurt flooding her features. "Brit?"
"You don't get to walk back in," Brittany said, her voice low. It wasn't a shout. It wasn't even particularly loud. But it cracked through the foyer like a whip, silencing Abby's burgeoning questions, making Ducky flinch, causing Palmer to shrink back further. Every syllable was honed steel, cold and sharp. "Not like this. Not after everything."
Gibbs remained still, absorbing the blow. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Heard about the storm damage. Came to check." His explanation was clipped, utilitarian. An NCIS agent checking on a property. Not a godfather facing the child he’d failed.
Tony snorted, a harsh, humorless sound. "Right. Storm damage. Convenient timing, Boss. Real convenient." The 'Boss' sounded like an insult.
Fornell didn't bother with sarcasm. His voice was flat, dangerous. "You got a warrant for this welfare check, Gibbs? Or just barging in? Again."
"The gate was open. Saw DiNozzo's car." Gibbs’s gaze flicked to Tony, then back to Brittany. "You alright?"
The sheer banality of the question, the sheer audacity after years of silence, after the betrayal that still echoed in her nightmares, ignited the cold fury into white-hot rage. Brittany took a single step forward, closing the distance slightly. Water dripped rhythmically from her hair onto the marble. The scent of ozone – not from the storm outside, but from her – seemed to prickle the air, making Tony and Fornell shift uneasily beside her.
"Alright?" she repeated, her voice dropping to a near whisper that vibrated with suppressed power. The jasmine scent soured. The clock's ticking suddenly felt like a countdown. "You mean, after the storm that nearly tore my home apart? Or after the… unexpected guests who crash-landed through my roof? Or maybe," she tilted her head, a predator assessing prey, "after spending the last decade wondering why the one person who was supposed to protect me above all else left me behind?" Each word landed like a physical blow. Abby gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. Ducky closed his eyes briefly, pain etched on his face. Palmer looked like he might be sick.
Gibbs's composure cracked. A muscle jumped in his cheek. Guilt flashed raw and undeniable in his eyes before he wrestled it back under control. "Witness Protection—"
"Was a cage!" Brittany snapped, the whisper gone, replaced by a whip-crack that made the light fixture overhead tremble. "A cage you locked me in while you walked away! You didn't fight for me. You didn't come back. You vanished." She took another step, now only a few feet from him. The air felt thick, charged. "You left me alone with strangers, with people who saw a tool, a weapon, a paycheck. Not a child. Never a child you promised to protect." Her voice hitched, not with tears, but with the sheer, choking force of the wound ripped open anew. "And now you just… walk through my door? Because of a storm?"
Silence descended, heavier than before. Gibbs stood utterly still, absorbing the vitriol, the decades of pain condensed into seconds. He had no defense. The truth of her words was an anvil on his chest. His gaze dropped for a fraction of a second, then lifted back to hers. The pain was naked now, a raw wound mirrored in his own eyes. "Brittany..." Her name was a hoarse plea.
Behind Brittany, further down the wide hallway leading towards the kitchen, shadows shifted. The tall, cloaked figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi stood framed in the archway, silent, observing the confrontation with grave intensity. Just visible behind him, Anakin Skywalker's furious glare burned into the back of Gibbs's head. The tension in the foyer wasn't just familial; it was now galactic.
Brittany ignored the newcomers. Her focus was absolute. On Gibbs. On the past crashing into the present on her marble doorstep. "Get out," she said, the words flat, final. Exhaustion warring with the unyielding fury in her eyes. "Take them," she gestured vaguely towards Abby, Ducky, and Palmer, "and get out of my house."
Abby made a small, wounded noise. Ducky lowered his head. Palmer looked terrified. Gibbs didn't move for a long moment, his gaze locked with Brittany’s, the chasm of years and betrayal yawning between them on the pristine, water-stained marble. The storm might have passed outside, but the tempest in the foyer was only beginning. Gibbs finally gave a single, shallow nod. Not agreement. Acknowledgement. Of the line drawn. Of the door slammed shut. Again. He turned stiffly towards his stunned team, the unspoken command to leave hanging heavy in the suddenly suffocating scent of jasmine and rain.
The heavy front door clicked shut behind Gibbs, Abby, Ducky, and Palmer, sealing out the damp night air but not the suffocating tension. The scent of rain and bruised jasmine lingered, thick and unpleasant. Brittany stood rigid, staring at the sealed door, the water from her soaked clothes pooling cold around her feet on the polished marble.
Tony let out a long, low whistle, running a hand through his hair. "Well. That was... festive. Like Thanksgiving at the Addams Family mansion." He nudged Fornell. "You catch the look on Ducky's face? Poor guy looked like he swallowed a lemon."
Fornell grunted, his gaze fixed on Brittany’s rigid back, worry etching lines around his eyes. "Gibbs deserved every word. Doesn't make it easier to watch." He hesitated, then added softly, "You okay, kid?"
Brittany didn't turn. Her shoulders were tense wires beneath the wet fabric of her shirt. The faint, sharp tang of ozone still clung to her, a residue of her barely contained fury. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her own elbows.
From the hallway archway, Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped forward, his expression grave, his blue eyes reflecting deep concern. Anakin hovered just behind him, his own face a storm cloud of confusion and simmering anger directed at the departed Gibbs, yet flickering constantly towards Obi-Wan and the memory of the kitchen kiss. "You were... distressed," Obi-Wan stated quietly, his voice a calm counterpoint to the charged atmosphere. "We felt it."
The sound of sizzling and a faint, acrid smell of burning batter drifted from the kitchen, followed by Rex’s stoic voice. "Commander Tano, the... breakfast protein... appears to be achieving maximum carbon scoring."
Brittany finally moved, a slow pivot away from the door. Her eyes, when they met Obi-Wan’s, held a complex mix of exhaustion, residual rage, and something deeper, older. "Distressed is one word for it," she murmured, her voice rough. "Tony, Fornell? Kitchen. Deal with the carbon scoring. And Rex. Please." She didn't request; the quiet command was absolute. "Keep Ahsoka company."
Tony opened his mouth, likely to protest leaving her alone with the two intense strangers, but Fornell clamped a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, DiNozzo. Pancake triage." He steered a reluctant Tony down the hall towards the kitchen smells and Rex’s battlefield report.
Anakin shifted impatiently, his glare fixed on Obi-Wan. "Master, what was that? In the kitchen? And why does he," he jerked his chin towards the door, "make her feel like... that?" He radiated protective fury, a coiled spring ready to lash out at the source of Brittany’s pain.
Brittany ignored the question about Gibbs. That wound was too raw, too vast. Instead, she looked directly at Anakin, her gaze steady despite the emotional turmoil churning beneath the surface. "Not here." She turned without another word, walking towards a set of double doors off the foyer opposite the hallway leading to the kitchen. Her bare feet left damp prints on the cool marble.
Obi-Wan followed immediately, his stride purposeful yet calm. Anakin hesitated for a split second, suspicion warring with a desperate need for answers, before striding after them, his boots echoing sharply in the sudden quiet. Brittany pushed open the doors, revealing a spacious study – floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with volumes, a large mahogany desk, deep leather armchairs arranged before a cold fireplace. The air smelled of old paper, leather, and faint traces of sea salt.
She closed the doors firmly behind Anakin, the solid thud sealing them in. Rain lashed against the tall windows, casting shifting, distorted reflections on the dark wood floor. Brittany leaned back against the closed doors, the solid wood grounding her for a moment. She looked from Anakin’s fiercely confused face to Obi-Wan’s watchful, understanding eyes.
"Anakin," she began, her voice lower now, stripped of the earlier whip-crack fury but threaded with an immense, weary gravity. "What happened in the kitchen... Obi-Wan touching me like that... it wasn't just a kiss." She took a slow breath, the scent of old knowledge and the distant storm filling her lungs. "It was a recognition. An ancient one."
Anakin tensed, his hand unconsciously drifting towards where his lightsaber would normally hang. "Recognition of what?" His voice was tight, demanding. "He kissed you like he... like he owned you." He couldn't keep the accusation, the hurt confusion, out of his tone as he looked at his master.
Obi-Wan met his Padawan’s gaze, unflinching. "Not ownership, Anakin. Connection. A bond predating this moment, this lifetime." His voice was gentle but carried the weight of the galaxy. "A bond etched into the fabric of the Force itself."
Brittany pushed off the door, stepping into the center of the room. Rainwater dripped from her hair onto the Persian rug. She held Anakin’s stormy gaze, her own eyes holding centuries of hidden lineage and sudden, terrifying vulnerability. "He’s right, Anakin," she said, the words dropping like stones into the quiet room. "Obi-Wan Kenobi is my soulmate. My other half. Bound across lifetimes, across the stars. The Force... and older magics... brought us crashing together. Literally."
Anakin stared. The word hung in the air like smoke after blaster fire – soulmate. He blinked, processing the impossible declaration amidst the lingering scent of rain, old paper, and the phantom ozone still clinging to Brittany. His gaze snapped from her serious face to Obi-Wan’s calm one, then back. Disbelief warred with a surge of something hot and irrational.
"That's... ridiculous," he spat, the word cracking slightly. He gestured sharply, encompassing the strange room, the rain-streaked windows, the two impossible figures before him. "Soulmates? Bound across lifetimes? You expect me to believe that while we're stranded Force-knows-where, our ship is slag, and you just—" His voice hitched, the image of Obi-Wan’s lips claiming Brittany’s flashing vividly. "You kissed her like... like it was appalling, Master!" The accusation was raw, directed solely at Obi-Wan, tinged with a personal sense of violation that went beyond Jedi doctrine. "The Code forbids attachment!"
Obi-Wan didn't flinch. He met Anakin's furious gaze, his own expression etched with ancient patience and the profound weight of the revelation. "The Force moves in ways we scarcely comprehend, Anakin," he countered, his voice low and resonant in the quiet study. "This bond... it is not mere attachment. It transcends the Order's strictures, older than the Temple itself. Think. Feel." He took a deliberate step closer, not threatening, but compelling. "You felt the resonance when she touched the Force earlier. You feel the echo of it now, threading between us three, undeniable."
Brittany watched Anakin, her own turmoil momentarily set aside. She saw the rigid set of his jaw, the storm in his blue eyes, the way his fists clenched and unclenched. Beneath the anger, beneath the Jedi training, she sensed a deeper, sharper terror. A secret held so close it had become a cage. Her empathic senses, honed by witchblood and trauma, brushed against the edges of his mind – not probing, just feeling the overwhelming pressure. Pain. Fear. Desperation. And... love. A fiercely protected, forbidden love.
"Attachment is forbidden," Anakin repeated, the words sounding hollow, mechanical, a shield he desperately clung to. His eyes darted away, fixing on the rain lashing the windowpane, unable to hold Obi-Wan’s gaze or Brittany’s piercing scrutiny. The fight seemed to seep out of him, replaced by a chilling dread that made his shoulders slump. "It leads to the dark side. It will destroy me." His voice dropped to a ragged whisper, barely audible over the drumming rain. "It already has."
Silence stretched, thick and heavy. Obi-Wan’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. A slow, dawning realization replaced the calm certainty in his gaze. He took another step closer, his voice dropping to match Anakin’s broken tone. "Anakin... what have you done?"
The dam broke. Anakin’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with panic and shame. The carefully constructed facade of the Jedi Knight crumbled, revealing the terrified young man beneath. "Padme," he choked out, the name a desperate confession ripped from his soul. "I married Padme. On Naboo. After Geonosis." He flinched, bracing for condemnation, for disgust, for the crushing weight of his Master's disappointment. His gaze flickered to Brittany, expecting judgment from this formidable stranger. "I broke the Code. I lied. To you, Master. To the Council. To everyone."
Brittany didn't react with shock or condemnation. Her expression remained focused, analytical, like a surgeon assessing a critical wound or an agent evaluating actionable intelligence. She moved, not towards Anakin, but to perch on the edge of the heavy mahogany desk, her damp clothes darkening the polished wood. The practical billionaire and the seasoned agent superseded the supernatural being in that moment. "Okay," she stated, her voice crisp, cutting through the emotional maelstrom. "Padme Amidala. Senator. Naboo. Married."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, a complex wave of emotions washing over his face – sorrow, understanding, a profound weariness, and a flicker of something that might have been... relief? The final piece clicking into place. "Ah, Padme," he murmured, opening his eyes. They held no trace of anger, only deep, aching compassion and the crushing burden of knowledge. "The visions you spoke of... her death." It wasn't a question. The terrible puzzle Anakin had been wrestling with suddenly made horrifying sense.
Anakin nodded miserably, unable to speak, the raw terror of his recurring nightmare – Padme dying in childbirth – flooding back, amplified by his confession. The weight felt unbearable.
Brittany leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp and direct. "Anakin, look at me." Her tone brooked no argument, the same voice that commanded Marines or directed surgical teams. He dragged his shattered gaze to hers. "That kiss," she began, gesturing vaguely towards Obi-Wan, "it unlocked a lot. Including why the Force threw you all onto my roof. It’s not just about... him and me." She indicated Obi-Wan. "It’s about you. Your fear. Your secret. Your Padme." She paused, letting the significance sink in. "We know now. The secret's out, at least with us. And hiding it is killing you faster than any Sith."
Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin's rigid shoulder, the touch grounding, anchoring. "You are not alone in this, Anakin," he said, his voice thick with an emotion deeper than Jedi serenity. "Not anymore. This burden was never meant to be carried solely on your shoulders."
Brittany pushed off the desk, standing tall despite the damp clothes and lingering emotional exhaustion. Her eyes, sea-deep and ancient, held Anakin’s with unwavering certainty. "We help our own," she stated simply, the words resonating with the fierce loyalty she reserved for those few she claimed. "That includes Padme. Your wife." She saw the flicker of desperate hope warring with disbelief in his eyes. "Whatever threat you see coming for her? We face it. Together. NCIS resources, Jedi skills, my... other means." A slight, almost imperceptible shimmer of power, ancient and deep, flickered around her for a heartbeat. "Your secret is safe with us, Skywalker. Now, where is she? Right now?"
Anakin stared at them, Obi-Wan’s steadying hand on his shoulder, Brittany’s formidable presence radiating fierce, unconditional support. The crushing isolation fractured. Fragile, disbelieving hope warred with ingrained fear, a new kind of tremor shaking him. "You... you'd do that?" he whispered, the words tasting foreign. "Help her? After... everything?"
"Where is she?" Brittany repeated, the question sharp, urgent, cutting through his daze. The storm outside mirrored the one slowly quieting within him. Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force was a solid, unwavering anchor beside him, a silent vow resonating deeper than words. Momentum shifted, crackling with the promise of action.