Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They stood side by side, brothers looking over an ailing parent. Obi-wan stood with his hands in his sleeves, eyes fixed on his old master’s unresponsive face. His braid trailed over his shoulder. Anakin glanced over, sidelong, and mimicked his posture. Straight back, blank face, hands tucked into opposite sleeves. He gripped his own wrists, nails digging into sun-tough skin.

Qui-gon Jinn was too pale, too limp, too lifeless where he hung in the bacta tank. His hair swirled around his face like a sea creature. The wound in his gut was cleaned and bloodless, but that made it worse. It was like an old wound on a cadaver.

The questions itched on the edge of his tongue. Qui-gon was really hurt. Anakin had seen death too many times to count. He knew what it looked like when blood soaked the sand. He knew what it felt like when someone's life faded from the world. He wondered if Obi-wan could feel that too.

Qui-gon was still there. But he was weak. This sterile, white washed hospital on a wealthy Republic planet was no different from the cramped, herb-spicy home of a healer-witch back on Tatooine. Anakin couldn’t tell if Qui-gon would die, and he couldn’t read the text on the monitor. He doubted that it would give them any answers.

If Qui-gon got better, life seemed straightforward. Anakin would become a Jedi under his tutelage, and then, when he learned all that he could, he would go home and free the slaves in a blaze of glory. Kill the Hutts, destroy  the markets, rip the masters limb from bloody goddamn limb.

The smell of sanitizer, sharp and alcoholic, tickled Anakin’s nose. He wanted to sneeze, but he breathed shallowly to keep the sensation down. He knew how to hold back a sneeze. He knew how to be quiet.

But what if Qui-gon wasn’t okay? Anakin knew there was a chance the Jedi would die. Would Anakin still become a Jedi? The Council hated him, but did Obi-wan?

He glanced sidelong at the younger Jedi again. He couldn’t get a read on Obi-wan. Qui-gon had been easy- he exuded power and safety. He was a man who freed the slaves and took care of people. He took care of Padmé, right? He had taken care of her whole planet. Maybe he was a little scary, but he wasn’t scary like the masters on Tatooine.

(Not that Watto was bad. Watto was a good master, mostly. Sometimes he got mad, but only when Anakin broke something or a customer was being an ass. And he gave them food and shelter, which was more than a lot of slaves got. And he’d never touched Anakin’s mother, or Anakin for that matter. Anakin knew they were lucky. He also knew that it could change at any time.)

But Obi-wan didn’t have an aura like Qui-gon. Well, he did, but it was quieter, dwarfed behind his master like a moon next to a sun. And it had gotten even quieter after that fight. There had only been the one moment- a scream that ripped through Anakin's head- and now Obi-wan's pain was silent. 

It was disconcerting, to stand next to the Jedi and not be able to feel him. Anakin could feel everyone, but his senses slid off Obi-wan like water over a smooth stone.

Obi-wan shifted for the first time in a few minutes, one eyebrow lifting upwards. “Yes, Anakin?”

Anakin jerked, startled, and looked away. He hadn’t meant to disturb Obi-wan. Most people couldn’t feel him probing them, but Obi-wan responded right away.

“I’m sor-” He started, but Obi-wan raised a hand and Anakin immediately silenced.

“No need to apologize,” he said in that Core-world rich folk accent. “I apologize. Simply standing here and staring will not help him to heal any faster.” He turned away from the bacta tank, his shoulders slumping just the tiniest bit.

Anakin recognized that- he had seen it in slaves too proud to show their weariness. It was the little motions, the shoulders, the lines around the eyes. Obi-wan was exhausted.

But Anakin didn’t know if Obi-wan would appreciate the weakness being pointed out. So he just asked, “What will happen to me?” It sounded whiny even to his ears, but he couldn’t help the fear. Even if Obi-wan’s Jedi Council told him fear was bad. He was scared all the time. It was the way of life. Maybe someday, if he trained hard enough, he wouldn’t be scared anymore.

If Qui-gon ever woke up.

Obi-wan pulled open the door to the bacta tank room and held it so Anakin could step into the med center hall. “You will become a Jedi,” he said, letting the door close softly behind him. Then he knelt down, so he was eye to eye with Anakin. “If Master Qui-gon doesn’t… wake up, then I will teach you.”

Anakin swallowed, studying the blue eyes before him for any signs of a lie. Obi-wan’s eyes were the same color as the oceans the spice pilots talked about on other worlds. Blues and greens and depth beyond fathom. Anakin had always wanted to see one, but the idea of that much water both thrilled and terrified him. He wondered if Obi-wan’s home had an ocean. It had to, for his eyes to be so bright and deep.

It took him a second to realize that it wasn’t Obi-wan’s eyes that felt like an ocean, though the color was right. It was Obi-wan himself. Whatever he’d been doing to hide himself was gone, and Anakin could sense his mind. Endless, deep, and blue-green. He could drown in it if he let himself. The water would close over his head and muffle the endless noise of the galaxy and there would be peace.

But he had never connected with another person like this before, and he panicked. It was his mind- his mind was the only thing he owned, and Obi-wan could get into his mind -

He lashed out, jerking back to his own head, and his sense of Obi-wan vanished as quick as it appeared. Obi-wan’s face remained blank but for the slightest wince. And then, a moment later, a drip of blood from his nose.

Anakin had hurt him.

He flinched back, waiting for Obi-wan to leap to his feet and lash out- a back hand across the face, probably, but Anakin could take it. Running would make it worse- he stood in that empty hospital hallway and waited. The smell of disinfectant still tickled his nose.

But Obi-wan remained on one knee. He raised one hand, slowly, to wipe away the drip of blood with his sleeve.

Mom would have yelled at him for using his clothes as a tissue.

“I apologize, Anakin,” Obi-wan said softly, inclining his head. “I pushed too far- you’re incredibly bright in the Force.”

Anakin blinked, dumbfounded. Never, never , had an adult apologized to him. He didn’t know what to say. So he just stared.

Obi-wan sniffed, then stood up with a small smile. “Come, Anakin. It’s nearly dinner time. Shall we see if we can make the cafeteria before the line becomes too long?”

Anakin gave the slightest nod of agreement. It felt like a trap- he hurt Obi-wan. Obi-wan was going to hurt him back- that was simply the way of it. Waiting for a punishment was torture. It would be better if Obi-wan just hit him now.

Obi-wan took a few steps, cloak swirling around his ankles, then paused and glanced back. “Are you alright?”

Anakin bit his lip, clasping his hands together in his borrowed cloak like Obi-wan stood. “I… are you…?”

“Am I what?” Obi-wan stepped towards Anakin, then flinched when Anakin backed up a step. He dropped to one knee again, and moved his hands out in a gesture of peace.

Anakin dug his nails into his arms and swallowed hard. “I hurt you,” he whispered.

Obi-wan blinked, then cracked a grin- this one was genuine. He lit up too, whatever shield around his mind dropping so Anakin could sense his amusement. Worry, too, and fear, but the amusement was brightest. “Oh, Anakin, I’m alright. I grew up in the Temple- I remember once when I was a child, my friend Quinlan threw a tantrum that made me pass out.” He hesitated. “I’m not mad. I promise.”

Then the amusement dropped, leaving the hallway darker than before. “I don’t know what it was like… where you came from,” Obi-wan admitted. His eyes slid away, towards the floor, then back to Anakin’s face. “But I won’t… even if I was mad, I wouldn’t look for revenge. I wouldn’t do anything.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry- Qui-gon should be having this conversation with you, not-”

But it was enough for Anakin, and he jumped forward and threw his arms around Obi-wan’s neck, burying his face in the Jedi’s cloak. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry Qui-gon got hurt, and I’m sorry that you have to babysit me, and-”

“It’s alright.” The amusement was back, brightening the hospital hall, but it tasted bittersweet. Obi-wan returned the hug- it was stiff and awkward like he wasn’t used to hugging, but his arms were strong. After a moment, he gently pushed Anakin away. “Now, come. Qui-gon would never forgive me if I forgot to feed you.”

Bold with Obi-wan’s validation, Anakin shook his head. “No- he wouldn’t forgive me if I forgot to feed you .”

…

Obi-wan’s head ached. There was too much turmoil in the Force here on Naboo. The invasion was defeated; the crisis was over. But many had died, and more were injured. The Force hummed with discordant grief. And Qui-gon was still labeled as an intensive care patient- he could not be moved to Coruscant until he was stable.

If he became stable.

Obi-wan felt like a fraud, sitting in the hospital’s visitor lounge while a Naboo woman wept nearby. He was a Jedi and he was meant to be helping people. Instead he curled sideways in the chair, one hand pressed to his temple, the other curled loosely around his comlink. The woman’s grief was a barrage in the Force, but he knew there was nothing anybody could do about that.

But blast it , his head hurt. Qui-gon would tell him he needed to get some sleep. He knew he needed to sleep, but there hadn’t been time. And his bond with Qui-gon still felt so fragile, like it could snap at any moment. If Qui-gon slipped away while Obi-wan was sleeping -

No. Best to focus on the here and now and release his anxieties.

But it was easier to release his anxieties when there was nothing to be anxious about.

He sensed Master Yoda a moment before the being appeared in the doorway to the lounge. It was enough of a warning for Obi-wan to stand up, straightening his robes and making sure his shields were tight around his mind.

“Padawan Kenobi,” Yoda greeted, stepping into the room.

Obi-wan bowed deeply. Respect for his elder was carved on his very being. But that made the coming conversation all the more difficult. He felt like running away and throwing up and curling into a ball until Qui-gon awoke. But of course, he didn’t.

“Master,” he said, none of his nerves leaking into his voice.

Yoda’s eyes flicked towards the other woman in the lounge. Her crying had quieted, and now she stared at the wall, red-eyed. Her grief raged like a storm in the Force, but her face was blank as a statue’s. It seemed wrong to have this conversation in her company, but the hospital was packed with the wounded and dying, and the lounge was the emptiest place there was at the moment.

“Spoken to the boy, we have,” Yoda started, bowing his head. “Unfit, he is, for the Jedi. Too much fear in him, there is.”

Obi-wan swallowed hard. “Was I any different when you taught me?”

Yoda grunted a noise of dissent. “Different were your upbringings. Too old-”

“I will train the boy.” Obi-wan wanted to shrink at directly defying the Council, defying Yoda himself, but in this case it had to be done. Anakin shone in the Force like a small sun. He needed to be trained, and Obi-wan knew if Qui-gon were awake, then he would take the boy as his padawan. “With respect, Master, it is Qui-gon’s wish-”

“Weak, Qui-gon is,” Yoda said, holding up a hand for Obi-wan’s silence. “If wake he does, then long will his recovery be. The same, I fear he will never be.”

“Then I will train him, if Qui-gon cannot.” He hated defying Master Yoda like this, but Obi-wan knew what needed to be done.

Yoda studied him for a long moment. “And if forbid you, the Council does? If turn Anakin from the order, they do?”

Would it come to that? Obi-wan felt his stomach drop, but still, he knew the answer. Sometimes, the right thing came above the Order. Melida-Daan, Mandalore…Obi-wan had come close to permanently leaving the Jedi before. Would he do it for Anakin, a boy he had only just met?

A boy Qui-gon had replaced him with?

“I would go with him, Master,” Obi-wan said, lowering his head in a deferent, apologetic bow. “Anakin needs a teacher.”

Yoda was silent for a long several minutes. Obi-wan remained where he stood, head bowed. His boots were horribly scuffed- they had seen him through a short mission overseeing a few political weddings that turned into a firefight, his glorious and terrible year on Mandalore, and now Naboo. He needed a new pair, but he always put it off because he hated breaking them in.

He wondered how Satine was, and then guilt overtook his anxiety. He had no right to think about Satine, not when Qui-gon’s life hung in a bacta tank and a slave boy was relying on him and Yoda was standing right there .

Mind your attachments , he hissed at himself in his own head. Here and now. Focus.

“No decisions will be made while unconscious Qui-gon is,” Yoda finally said. “His responsibility, this boy is.”

Obi-wan could have wept, but he kept his face as neutral as possible. “Thank you, Master,” he said. “We will show you that Anakin will be a great Jedi-”

Yoda held up a hand sharply. “And his responsibility you are. A knight you are not, and a student you may not take. And a student Master Qui-gon already has.”

Obi-wan’s mask of deference slipped. “With respect, Master,” he said. “I defeated a Sith Lord . I believe that qualifies me-”

“But a knight you are not,” Yoda repeated, more firmly. “Until awakens or passes Qui-gon does, a padawan you remain.”

“And until then I will help Anakin!” Obi-wan drew himself up, not realizing how he mimicked Qui-gon’s posture. “We took him from his home- he needs citizenship and he knows nobody and there’s a bomb embedded in him- Force knows why they use an explosive chip now. The collar was bad enough-”

A sharp rap against his shins cut his ranting off and Obi-wan took a deep breath, the emotions still rolling through his chest. He had to keep a clear head, or he himself would be deemed unfit.

“My apologies, Master,” he said, bowing his head. “But the boy is alone in the Republic right now. Even if he is not to become a Jedi, I will help him get settled.”

Yoda grunted again. “Prone to attachment, you are, young Obi-wan. Mind your feelings. Mislead you, they will.”

“Yes, master.” He pushed his hands into his opposite sleeves, clasping his wrists lightly.

“Take care of the boy, if you must,” Yoda said. “More thoroughly evaluate him back at the Jedi Temple, we will.”

Obi-wan nodded. “Thank you, Master.”

Yoda grunted, giving him a dark look. The old grandmaster certainly wasn’t happy about the situation, but Obi-wan didn’t care. He waited for Yoda to leave, then hastened back to Qui-gon’s bacta room. He had to dodge a few harried nurses and an angry doctor, but nobody questioned a Jedi’s presence.

He had only to step into Qui-gon’s room to feel Anakin’s fear. It was a physical thing, making Obi-wan’s head pound all the harder. After Yoda had left, the boy had curled up in the visitor’s chair, staring at Qui-gon. The soft light from the bacta tank played across his face, making him look too young to be in a sick man’s room.

He turned as soon as Obi-wan stepped in. “They don’t want to teach me,” he said. His eyes gleamed, but there were no tears. He stared at Obi-wan, the unspoken question hanging on the air between them. Will you abandon me?

Obi-wan’s head hurt all the more. What had Yoda said to the boy? Probably a lecture on fear and anger. Those were both lectures that Obi-wan had heard countless times. But right now, Obi-wan expected that a little fear was natural. Anakin was in an entirely new place, his future up in the air. Obi-wan had certainly felt fear over less.

He pulled the other chair a little closer and sat down. “Master Yoda gave me permission to help you,” he said slowly.

“But not to teach me,” Anakin surmised. He wrapped his arms around his legs and dropped his chin to his knees. “I don’t want to be a problem.”

“But I will teach you, Anakin,” Obi-wan promised. He glanced up at Qui-gon’s floating form, hating himself for the terror that boiled inside him. What if his master didn’t wake up? “I promise.”

What if Qui-gon did wake up, and he officially denounced Obi-wan in favor of Anakin?

Of course, Obi-wan thought mildly, he would choose Anakin over himself as well. Obi-wan was an average Jedi at his best moments, and critically subpar in others. If Obi-wan were a master, and it was a choice between himself and Anakin…

He pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to relieve some of the pressure behind his skull. The Force was too loud, Naboo was too loud, and his own thoughts were too loud.

Anakin’s eyes, bright in the dim light of the room, were fixed on him. “I got you water,” he said quietly, picking up a bottle from under his chair. “I know you probably can’t sleep since your master’s hurt, and you’re probably thinking about a billion other things, but…” he held out the bottle cautiously. “It’s a big thing at home,” he added. “If someone’s hurt, and they can’t go collect their water for the day. You bring it to them. And since I got you in trouble with your Council…”

Obi-wan stared at the bottle in the boy’s hand. There wasn’t a shortage here, but the gesture was touching. And he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually drunk something. This morning with breakfast, perhaps? A breakfast that he wouldn’t have eaten if he didn’t have to feed Anakin.

“Thank you,” he said, hoping Anakin caught the emotion behind the words. He twisted off the top, held the bottle up in a toast to Anakin, and took a sip. It was only at the first slightly stale vending machine taste that he realized how thirsty he actually was. He finished off the bottle then tossed it across the room towards the trash.

It bounced off the wall and to the ground.

Anakin moved to go pick it up, but Obi-wan waved a hand. Frivolous or not, the bottle levitated from the ground to the trash.

“Wizard,” Anakin breathed, then turned. “Will you teach me to do that?”

Obi-wan smiled. “Soon enough,” he said.

Anakin grinned, happy with that idea, then glanced up at Qui-gon again. “If you want to sleep first, you can,” he said. “I promise I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I need sleep?” he asked, though he knew it was probably written all over him.

Anakin raised an eyebrow back. “Your headache is starting to give me a headache,” he admitted.

“Oh. I apologize.” Obi-wan tightened his shields around his mind, blocking Anakin from his pain. He hadn’t even realized that the boy could sense him so clearly. It made sense though- Chosen one or not, he was powerful.

Anakin shook his head quickly. “You don’t have to apologize or do- whatever you just did. I’m sorry- Mom just always makes me go to sleep when it gets so much that my head hurts, and it helps. Mostly. But you can do whatever you want.” He curled tighter in the chair, eyes fixed on the bacta tank.

Obi-wan studied him for another moment. He truly was a sun, blazing over the desert. But he was quiet now. The sun was warm, and though the Force was disturbed, Anakin’s blinding presence was enough to block out much of the hospital’s chaos.

“An hour,” Obi-wan finally decided, curling in the chair so he could rest his head on his arm. He would nap for Anakin’s sake.

“An hour,” Anakin agreed, nodding fervently. Then he grinned brightly. “I’ll wake you up. Then you can watch while I take a nap too.”

Obi-wan didn’t have the energy to explain that they were safe enough that they didn’t need to take watch for each other. He had burned up his reserves talking to Master Yoda. And his nerves were raw enough that, outside the Jedi Temple, he liked the idea of someone watching, even if it was just a boy.

A boy with a Force presence that warmed him and soothed away his anxiety, leaving him drifting. He was asleep in a moment.

…

“I don’t like it,” Mace Windu said, glancing through the window into Qui-gon’s room. The lights were low and the privacy curtain was up, but it was slightly too small and there was a large gap that let him see into the room. Kenobi was curled in a chair, dead to the world, while Skywalker sat at attention, looking between Qui-gon’s monitor (which was also shown at the nurse’s station down the hall) and the padawan who’d vowed to babysit him.

“Like it, none of us do,” Yoda admitted. He sat in the chair across the hall, for once looking as ancient as his age. “Too young, Kenobi is, for a padawan. Knighted he will be, when awakens, Qui-gon does. But train the boy, he cannot.”

“They’re already attached,” Mace pointed out. Damn Qui-gon, for getting them into this mess. Damn Qui-gon, for leaving yet another pathetic lifeform to Kenobi. “He still struggles with attachment. He didn’t exactly shine on Mandalore.”

And the only reason Kenobi hadn’t been formally reprimanded for that fiasco was that Qui-gon had all but encouraged it. Mace suspected the older Jedi had been living vicariously through his padawan’s affair. None of the council knew how deep it had gone, but they could all tell how shaken Kenobi was at the end of the mission.

The issue was that the shakiness was purely personal. On the surface, Kenobi was a competent padawan on the path to being a competent knight. His decisions were sound, and he excelled at diplomacy and negotiation, blowing some masters out of the water with his rhetoric when the situation called. His saber skills were solid (more than solid, truly- he had defeated a Sith lord with his master near death) and his classroom grades, while not stellar, were very much passable. It helped that people just liked Kenobi. He was kind and respectful towards everyone, listened to what people had to say, and saw the good in people who didn’t see the good in themselves. His genuine friendliness bordered on flirtiness at times, and the old female masters doted on the boy.

And yet he became attached too easily, and that was a liability. He was still attached to the Duchess of Mandalore- all it took was mentioning her name for him to break eye contact. He was attached to Qui-gon- even if his worry was tightly shielded, it was clearly there. And now he was attached to this boy, to the point where he threatened leaving the Order for him.

And that was what worried Mace. A boy prone to emotional attachment training a boy with unimaginable power outside of the safety of the Order?

“At least, know where they would go, we do,” Yoda commented, like he could hear Mace’s thoughts. “To Mandalore, he would take the boy.”

“Because what we need is the strongest force sensitive in thousands of years living on the most warlike planet in the galaxy,” Mace grumbled. “I don’t like it, but they have to stay.”

“Agree, I do,” Yoda admitted, ears drooping. “But clouded, the future is.”

Mace rubbed his hand down his face, trying not to see all the ways this could go horribly wrong. “Damn it, Qui-gon,” he muttered out loud, then shot a glare at Yoda. “You shouldn’t have paired them together. It ruined Kenobi.”

“Good for Qui-gon, Obi-wan is,” Yoda replied. “And a strong Jedi, Obi-wan is. Attachments, perhaps, but rooted strongly in the Light, he is.”

Mace couldn’t help but agree with that. Obi-wan had faced down a Sith Lord, but there was none of the staining on his Force presence that suggested he’d touched the Dark Side to do it. That was enough, on its own, to qualify him for knighthood. Were Qui-gon not still clinging to life, they would have already knighted him. But tradition remained, and they would wait and see what happened to Qui-gon before going forward with the ceremony.

For now, Kenobi remained a padawan.

The click of heels down the hall alerted them to a new presence. The doctor taking care of Qui-gon was an older woman, stern in countenance, white coat spotless. Despite the insanity in the hospital, not a single hair was out of place from her steel gray bun. It was only when she got closer could they see the tiredness in her negligible force signature, could smell the caf that she drank by the pot.

“Masters Jedi,” she said in greeting, but there was no bow. Here, she was the master and they the guests. “I’m glad I found you here.”

“Doctor Verana.” Mace inclined his head. “Do you have a status update on Master Jinn?”

She nodded, tapping her manicured nails against the file in her hands. “He requires extensive surgery, which I already mentioned to his son- student, excuse me. The bacta has stabilized him for now, but with the internal damage I will not leave him submerged for more than thirty-six hours. Healing wrong, at this point, would be fatal and far more painful.”

Mace nodded- he understood. Bacta was a miracle chemical, true, but it was only a tool in a medic’s arsenal. It was not magic.

“One of you must make the decision to either operate on him here, or return him to Coruscant,” she said, meeting both Mace and Yoda’s eyes. “I apologize- I’m not sure if it’s your decision, or his student’s. But the young man is asleep, and…” Her face softened, some of the stern lines vanishing.

Of course, Kenobi had managed to melt the doctor’s heart too. It was only great personal control and years of meditation that kept Mace from rolling his eyes.

“Return to Coruscant, we will,” Yoda said. “To our own healers, we will take Master Jinn.”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll send somebody with the discharge paperwork and a copy of his charts for your healers. Do you have any questions?”

Mace shook his head. “Thank you for your time,” he added, bowing. “May the Force be with you.”

This time, she mimicked the bow, albeit awkwardly. “And with you,” she said, and then vanished down the hall, heels clicking her staccato exit.

…

The Queen herself came to see the Jedi off planet. It seemed the least she could do, for nearly losing one of their own in protecting Naboo. Obi-wan greeted them at the base of the ship’s ramp, Anakin at his side. He bowed, then straightened with an easy smile. He was happy to be of service, he worked for the Republic, he was glad to see her planet free.

His eyes flicked only once to Padmé, but it was enough that she knew that he knew who he was actually talking to. Even now, it was dangerous for the people to know which woman was Queen and which was handmaiden. And his face, when he realized, didn’t change.

It was amazing, Padmé thought. Of course, she had formal training on schooling her expression from the time she was very young and first dipping her toes into the political scene. It was one of the many things she was taught as a young girl. It seemed the Jedi were the same way. She would have thought Obi-wan unaffected by his master’s being near death.

Except she knew he wasn’t.

She had gone to visit the Jedi when Qui-gon was first brought into the hospital. She had been in disguise as a normal civilian, so nobody had stopped her, and it was easy enough to use her codes to log into a computer and find where they were. When she’d arrived at the room, Obi-wan was not there. Rather, he’d been standing at the end of the hall, leaning his forehead against the glass window looking out over the damaged city of Theed.

She had started to walk to him when he moved his hands to his face and she realized he was crying. Quietly, in control, but overwhelmed and scared and actually his age. Sometimes it was hard to remember that the handsome young Jedi wasn’t much older than she.

Padmé didn’t know what to do- comfort him, or let him gather himself? She decided on the latter, not wanting to embarrass him, and left for a half hour. When she returned, he was back to normal, only the slightest redness around his eyes and nose suggesting that he’d broken down.

Now, she wondered at his blank face, and if maybe she shouldn’t have offered a hug. But Obi-wan wasn’t warm like Qui-gon was. She didn’t know if he would appreciate it.

But she knew Anakin would. The boy was staring intently at her, not paying attention to Sabé and Obi-wan’s formal conversation. She smiled and stepped away, offering Anakin a little wave. Anakin glanced up at Obi-wan.

The Jedi glanced at Padmé, then offered Anakin a small nod. Anakin practically bounded away, and Padmé couldn’t help but giggle at his excitement.

“Goodbye, Anakin,” she said. “I know you’ll be a great Jedi. I hope Qui-gon gets better soon so he can teach you.”

“I’ll miss you.” Anakin leapt forward and threw his arms around her. She stumbled back a step at the exuberant hug, but wrapped her arms around him.

“I think Obi-wan’s going to teach me,” he admitted quietly into her shoulder. “Qui-gon’s hurt really bad.”

Padmé swallowed, patting his back. She had to admit, she didn’t know if that was better or worse. Qui-gon seemed better equipped to train a slave boy to be a Jedi. Obi-wan just always seemed… aloof. Professional. She knew there had been a rumor about him and the Mandalorian duchess, but she didn’t believe it. Not after actually meeting him. Anakin needed someone who understood what it meant to feel something.

But she didn’t voice her opinions. “Well, I’m sure Obi-wan will be an excellent teacher,” she admitted. “He was very brave.”

“He is brave,” Anakin insisted. “And you are too. I’m glad your people are all okay now.”

“I am too,” she said, her fondness coloring her voice. Then she pushed him away, breaking their hug. “And both you and Obi-wan are always welcome on Naboo,” she added. “We owe you a great debt. I hope the Jedi will allow you to return for the celebrations.” She laughed. “We’re already planning a festival. It’s dreadfully boring signing papers on which streamers to use.”

Anakin’s eyes lit up at the word festival, and Padmé suddenly wondered if that was a mistake to tell him. Hopefully the Jedi would let him come. He was one of their heroes as much as Obi-wan and Qui-gon were.

“Padmé,” Sabé called. “If you are finished saying goodbye, we have another financial meeting to attend.”

“Of course,” Padmé called.

Anakin pulled a face and leaned in close so nobody would hear. “If she knows that you’re the queen, why does she order you around?”

Padmé laughed and patted his shoulder. “She likes to pretend she’s actually the queen,” she whispered back. “But she’s like my sister. I don’t mind. Take care of yourself, Ani.”

They walked back over together. Padmé took her place beside Sabé and Anakin took his place beside Obi-wan. With one last formal bow, they departed. Anakin glanced over his shoulder for one last look at Padmé, but she didn’t look back at him.

The ramp closed behind them, and the ship took off for Coruscant.

…

Anakin had been given a whole bunk to himself, and he didn’t know what to do with it. It was cold in space, and the cloak they’d given him wasn’t nearly enough, and now he missed Mom and Padmé and Qui-gon. But he was alone in the dimly lit room and he didn’t want to go exploring when Masters Windu and Yoda were on the ship. He was scared of running into one of them.

But he wasn’t alone long. He sensed Obi-wan in the hall and darted up to open the door for him. Obi-wan stood awkwardly, fist raised to knock, and then he dropped his hand. “Anakin, do you have time to talk?”

That was a stupid question- right now, in the limbo of hyperspace, Anakin had nothing but time. He nodded and moved aside so Obi-wan could come in.

“You’re nervous,” he said awkwardly, hoping Obi-wan wouldn’t be mad at him for pointing it out. But he knew it was true- even though Obi-wan’s face was blank, Anakin could feel the Jedi’s nerves making his own heart beat faster.

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow in surprise, then nodded. “I suppose I can’t hide from you,” he admitted, sitting in the empty bunk across from Anakin. Anakin took the cue and sat as well, crossing his legs. “I am nervous,” Obi-wan continued. “Many things will change when we reach Coruscant. I have a list…” He reached into his robes and produced a datapad, handing it across to Anakin. “I’m sure I’ll find many more tasks, but that’s what I can think of for a start. I wanted to make sure you were prepared.”

Anakin stared down at the glowing screen. He saw the letters. He knew they were letters. And he could read some Huttese, of course- some kinder people taught him a little when Watto lent him out on repair jobs, and he taught his mother in turn.

But these were Basic letters, and Anakin didn’t know where to start with that. “I… can’t read,” he admitted, then cringed away from Obi-wan’s response.

“You can’t…oh.” Obi-wan leaned back in the bunk, obviously startled. “Yes, that… makes sense.” Then he smiled. “I suppose that’s another thing to add to the list then.” He reached a hand out for the datapad. Anakin returned it.

“You aren’t mad?” He asked quietly.

“Why would I be mad?” Obi-wan typed another line onto his list, then set the ‘pad aside and smiled at Anakin. “You can’t help your background. Although, you might have to be patient with me. I’ve never taught anybody to read before. Hopefully I won’t kriff it up.” He let out a breath, gaze dropping to the floor.

“You couldn’t kriff up anything,” Anakin assured him, then darted across the bunk to sit next to him. “You’re a Jedi.”

“A padawan,” Obi-wan corrected. Then he blinked. “And maybe don’t say that word in front of any masters.” Then he shook himself. “Well, if you can’t read it, I’ll just tell you. The first thing we have to do is get you all caught up at the healer’s. I don’t know what vaccines you’ve had, and we have to get that chip out of you. You’ll hate that part. I mean, I know I hate the healers.” He smiled wryly.

“If you’re there, it won’t be that bad,” Anakin said. He meant it. He loved Qui-gon- the man was big and tall and powerful and saved him from slavery. But Obi-wan was calming and steadfast and brave and had killed the monster and didn't try to hit him when Anakin messed up.

Obi-wan snorted, but let it go. “Once I get the paperwork from the healers, I can register you as a citizen of the Republic. That shouldn’t be too difficult, but it will be a lot of sitting in offices and signing papers. It can take a long time, sometimes, but I hope the Council might help me streamline it.”

“But you don’t know if they will,” Anakin finished, hearing the question in Obi-wan’s voice.

He shook his head. “To be honest with you, no. I don’t. But I stand by what I said. Whether they agree or not, I will teach you.”

Anakin swallowed and nodded, then leaned against Obi-wan’s side. “Sorry I’m making such a problem for you.”

Obi-wan stiffened, and for a second Anakin thought he would pull away. But instead he just shifted so he could pull his arm free and rest it around Anakin’s shoulders. Obi-wan was warm against the chill of space, especially when Anakin wriggled a little so he was half inside the Jedi’s cloak. He didn’t care that Obi-wan had a long to-do list. As long as they were together, it would be okay. And then Qui-gon would be okay too, and Anakin would become a Jedi and free the slaves. Maybe Obi-wan and Qui-gon would even help.

“You aren’t a problem, Anakin,” Obi-wan said. “It’s the entire galaxy that’s a problem.” He turned, resting his chin on Anakin’s head.

“I hope Qui-gon gets better,” Anakin whispered into Obi-wan’s chest.

Obi-wan stiffened again. Then, in words that seemed too small for a brave, nearly fully-trained Jedi, he whispered, “Me too.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, both cocooned together in Obi-wan’s cloak.

“He was… very badly hurt,” Obi-wan finally said. Anakin felt him tense up, like the words were difficult to say. “A lightsaber wound… people think it isn’t as bad because it can cauterize itself, but it burns too. And arteries still bleed if it isn’t perfectly cauterized, or the blood can get cut off from where it needs to go…” He fell quiet. “They don’t know if Qui-gon will get better. I don’t want to scare you. I just think you should know the… truth…”

He whispered the last word, and when Anakin looked up he was startled at the tears in Obi-wan’s eyes. Obi-wan stared very hard at the empty bunk across from them. His whole body was tense.

Anakin burrowed closer, wrapping his arms tighter around the Jedi. “You shouldn’t cry,” he said quietly. “It wastes water. Mom says you should scream instead, at night when nobody will know it’s you.”

The tension broke with a full body sob. “We don’t…” Obi-wan started, then broke again, covering his face with a hand. “We don’t have a water shortage,” he whispered.

Anakin hugged him tighter. He wanted to cry too, but he didn’t. It was like their master before Watto, when sometimes it got so much for Mom that she would just break down. Never crying- that was the first rule in the desert. Don't waste water. But she could go as far as the chip would let her and scream her defiance and when she came home, Anakin would hold her tight until she fell asleep.

Anakin knew when he had to be strong for someone else. Obi-wan was strong and brave and kind but right now he needed to cry, and Anakin didn’t mind. He understood.

“I don’t have a dad,” Anakin said. “But if I could pick one, I would pick Master Qui-gon.”

That made Obi-wan sob harder. Anakin wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing so he just rested his head on Obi-wan’s chest and tried to think calm thoughts. That always helped Mom- he would think of the stars over the desert, infinite and eternal. And her heartbeat would slow and her breathing would even out and eventually the sun would rise and they would continue with their lives.

It worked for Obi-wan too. His breathing hitched once more, and then he dropped his chin back to Anakin’s head. He felt like exhaustion. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“Stay here,” Anakin ordered, ignoring the, frankly, stupid apology. He got up before Obi-wan could reply and darted through the halls of the ship, to the small kitchenette. Maybe Obi-wan was taking care of him, but he could take care of Obi-wan too. That was how it worked, in the desert.

The Councilors were in the kitchenette. Mace Windu and Yoda. Anakin froze just outside, but they already knew he was there.

“Hide in the hall, do you?” Yoda called, and Anakin knew he didn’t have another choice.

He walked in, taking a deep breath. The two old Jedi were sitting at the table, both drinking tea. “I was just getting water,” Anakin said, swallowing. “For Obi-wan,” he added.

The two glanced at each other. Anakin got the sense that they were communicating, though he had no idea what about. “He was just talking to me about Coruscant,” Anakin added. “About paperwork and vaccines and Qui-… yeah. So I was just…” He gestured towards the ship’s sink. He consciously didn’t mention that Obi-wan cried. Anakin wouldn’t betray him like that.

Yoda made a small gesture towards the sink. “Tea, with milk, young Obi-wan prefers,” he said.

Anakin blinked, surprised at the small admission. It seemed so human, after all that they had lectured him on fear and anger and attachment like old, detached gods. “Thanks,” he said, then darted over to add water to the kettle and take one of the tea bags from the box on the counter.

Mace Windu was quiet. Anakin could sense his disapproval, and he tried to ignore it. But Yoda seemed less angry, like once he’d initially lectured Anakin he had said his piece. “Care about him, you do?”

“Yeah,” Anakin said, fidgeting while he waited for the water to heat in the kettle. “He’s a good person. I can always tell.”

“No doubt you can,” Master Windu muttered.

Anakin pretended he didn’t hear that and bounced on his heels, waiting for the water to boil. He didn’t know what to say to the old Jedi. He could feel their power in the room though. He could feel their eyes on his back, burning through him like twin suns.

He bit his lip, ignoring it. They could burn him all they liked, but they could never be as hot as the noon sands.

The kettle clicked off. Steam curled up as Anakin poured it into the cup, then darted to the little fridge for the milk. It was white instead of blue, and it swirled into the dark tea.

He hesitated for a second when he’d finished, glancing back at the Council members. Was he supposed to speak to them? He didn’t know the etiquette. But he settled on bowing, careful not to spill a drop of the tea, then darted away.

He let out a long breath, trying to squash his nerves so Obi-wan wouldn’t feel them, and returned to his bunk.

Obi-wan was still there. His eyes were red, but he no longer looked so wound up that he might shatter. Now he looked bemused, and that bemusement dripped into the Force when he saw the cup of tea in Anakin’s hands.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, accepting it. But he took a long sip anyways.

Anakin grinned, pleased that his offering had been accepted, then hopped up on the bunk again. It took only a moment to burrow back into Obi-wan’s cloak, pulling the extra fabric around his own shoulders. The steam from the tea wafted around them, filling the air with warmth.

Chapter Text

“He’s lucky he was on Naboo and not some backwater,” Vokara muttered as she looked over the scans. “Or he’d already be dead.”

“Yes, Master,” a padawan said, standing so close that her breath felt hot on Vokara’s lekku.

She shot a glare at the padawan, who all but fell over trying to get out of the healer’s personal space. The girl’s name was Arwen Vey, a fifteen year old Galacian girl with moon-glowing skin and soft eyes. Arwen had the stomach for healing, but it would be a while yet before she gained the self-confidence and experience required. She watched Vokara intently, force signature somehow simultaneously demure and burningly curious.

She was not Vokara’s padawan- she belonged to another knight. Despite that, she took every rotation in the Halls of Healing that she could. Like every healer, the girl had a fascination with anatomy that had gone wrong, and this new patient was no different.

It was not every day a patient came in with a lightsaber wound clear through his middle.

Vokara did not tell the girl to cool her curiosity. Sometimes, a little passion made one stronger (whatever the Code preached). Instead, she held out the printed copies of the Naboo scans.

“Tell me what you see,” she said. “Explain it as though I have never seen the scans.”

Arwen nodded, straightening like she’d been given a great honor (she had- if Vokara didn’t see her potential, she would not have allowed the padawan to shadow on this case).

It took her a moment, flipping through the scans. Her mouth drifted open as she peered at them, and once she held a hand to her own body. Not in horror- her lips moved as she recited anatomy lessons to herself. Once, she looked up. “He is human?”

“You tell me.”                                                                                                              

She blinked, then flipped to the front of the chart. “Yes- human. Sorry, that was dumb-”

“Do not apologize.” Vokara crossed her arms and waited.

Arwen took a breath. “The saber entered inf' to X-tip, at the level of L1, angled slightly sup', and exited through T10. It directly sliced through the stomach, diaphragm, and part of the lung. Partial damage to the spinal cord at the exit wound. Burns spread outwards affecting the remainder of the stomach, the large and small intestine, pancreas, liver, and lungs. Heart is undamaged. Internal bleeding from burns on the abdominal aorta-”

Vokara raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry- it’s still thoracic aorta.” She bit her lip, looking down at the scans, then up at the healer. “It’s very extensive damage. And there were initial signs of pneumothorax, but the Naboo doctors fixed that immediately when they stabilized him.”

Vokara nodded. “Anything else?”

Arwen looked down at the scans, flipping through the files. “I… I think...”

Would she catch it? No, she was panicking now. A purplish blush was starting to spread across her cheeks. “I don’t know,” she said after a second.

Good- she was learning. When she had first started showing up in the Halls of Healing, she would hmm and haw for ages without ever admitting that she didn’t know.

“He was put immediately into bacta to stabilize his body.” Vokara took the files back, then strode from the office to the patient’s room. Arwen followed along, one of her boots squeaking on the sterile white floor. “While that did prevent his immediate death, there will be new cellular growth in the wounds, causing possible stricture or fistula. Further, the wounds need to be fully debrided so any dead tissue doesn’t cause infection or sepsis. We need another scan immediately to tell us how to progress with the surgery.”

Arwen nodded. The Force was focused as a laser beam around her as she filed away everything Vokara said. Vokara was almost jealous of the girl’s actual master for finding a child with such zeal. (Almost being the key word- while she enjoyed teaching, she didn’t care much for the other parts of being a master, namely, the actual raising of a child).

Vokara swept into Qui-gon Jinn’s room. He lay pale and broken on a hovering stretcher, a dozen lines leading into a dozen different access points. Monitors beeped a rhythm that, while random to an untrained ear, had a dire sound to anybody with a medical background. Someone had tossed a blanket over his legs and pelvis for decorum’s sake.

Master Qui-gon Jinn was very, very close to death.

Several healers already fussed over him, pushing medications to keep his heart beating and his blood levels normal and his brain unconscious. Two simply stood motionless, hands outstretched over his head and heart. They had placed specially cut kyber crystals at strategic points on the master’s body so the Force could flow through him more harmoniously, but their crystals kept getting knocked by the lines. Each time, the Force would turn discordant and everyone in the room would cringe until it was fixed.

“Do we have the new scans?” Vokara asked.

The youngest healer in the room, Padawan Ells Cortana, darted forward with a datapad. “Here, Master,” he said. “It was a Sith Lord. Obi-wan killed it!”

“I don’t care if it was the Sith or if Jinn tripped and fell on his own saber,” Vokara grumbled, looking down at the datapad. “Gossip and you’re on laundry duty.”

“Yes, Master. Sorry, Master.” The padawan healer hung his head, braid falling forward over his shoulder.

She flipped through the scans. It would be a long surgery. Her mind flipped through the risks and benefits of a dozen variations. “His reflexes?” She snapped.

The padawan shook his head. “None below the chest. It is possible that there is pressure on the spinal cord from fluid buildup and inflammation, so there is a chance surgery will fix it.”

Vokara looked from the scans to the supine Jedi master before her. “Dammit, he should have been sent to surgery before the bacta. He was on Naboo- their doctors are qualified.”

Nobody argued with her. Their agreement echoed through the Force.

Vokara walked over to look down at Qui-gon’s slack face. “Dammit, Jinn,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s always you and Kenobi-” Then she jerked her head up. “Has anybody seen Kenobi?”

“He’s in the waiting area,” Cortana said. “He said he wasn’t injured-”

“He fakes it,” Vokara snapped. “Trust me, I practically rebuilt that boy myself. Ready Jinn for surgery. Arwen, stay and observe. Cortana- watch her.”

“Yes, Master.” Padawan Cortana pointed to an out of the way spot. “You can see what we do from here.”

The Force in the hall outside the sickroom was quieter, but Vokara didn’t feel it. The controlled chaos seemed to follow her in a personal maelstrom, and she whirled into the waiting area.

“You fought a Sith Lord,” she all but snarled. “I just cleared you from that Mandalore insanity, so you fight a Sith?”

Kenobi flinched back at the tone, eyes big. “I didn’t mean to,” he said innocently. “And I wasn’t hurt. Just a few bruises.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Shirt off.” She crossed her arms and waited.

Kenobi’s lips thinned. “Truly, Master Che. I’m fine. The worst I did was fall a few stories, but I caught myself on a catwalk-”

She stared at him. “Do you even hear yourself? Jinn ruined you. I don’t know what Yoda was thinking, pairing you with him like that.” She shook her head, and only then noticed that there was somebody else in the room. A boy of initiate age, wearing rough clothes and a borrowed Jedi cloak that trailed on the floor. Now that she noticed him, she didn’t know how she had missed him. His presence in the Force blazed bright as a master’s.

“This is Anakin,” Kenobi said, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’s from Tatooine.”

Vokara opened and closed her mouth once, then twice, before turning her gaze to Kenobi. “Jinn’s newest pet project is a child?”

“Pet project?” Anakin interrupted, voice cracking high with offense. Kenobi squeezed his shoulder, and he fell silent.

“Master Qui-gon is going to train Anakin,” Kenobi informed her. “When he’s- if he’s…” He trailed off. “Do you know how he is?”

Strict as she was, Vokara loved her job. She loved how the Force sang when she healed. She loved seeing a complicated case get back on their feet. She loved studying the countless variations of anatomy and finding the answers to problems that would make others scream in frustration.

But this part of the job, she hated.

“We are doing everything we can for him,” she said noncommittally.

The Force went dark around them with Kenobi’s mood, and then brightened back to normal as he reined in his emotions.

“If he survives the first surgery, then I would tentatively say he has an improved chance,” Vokara admitted. But she glanced down at this new boy, this Anakin. “But, should he survive, he will not be fit to train another padawan anytime soon.”

Kenobi still had his braid. Surely Jinn hadn’t tried to take on a second padawan while Kenobi was still in training? Although, it certainly sounded like something the old master would do.

“He’s from Tatooine?” She asked. “He’ll need his shots then.”

Kenobi nodded. The Force steadied now that he was back on his mission. “He needs all the vaccinations for a human, a full checkup, and…” He glanced down at Anakin, then back at her. “There’s a chip in him that needs to be removed.”

“A chip…” It took her a second to comprehend, and then she dragged Kenobi into the hall so swiftly that he could only yelp in surprise. She slammed the door behind them so the boy wouldn’t hear.

“A slave chip?” She growled. “You brought a bomb into the Temple?”

He glanced around for help, but there was no Qui-gon Jinn to bail him out. He was on his own, with the chief healer’s fists twisted in the front of his robes.

“Not a bomb,” he argued pathetically. “It’s more of a… small grenade. It would only truly hurt Anakin. And it’s disabled- I have the controller in my pocket. It’s perfectly safe, Master Che.”

“I’ll tell you what’s safe and what’s not,” she snapped. She wanted to shake him, but she settled for shoving him away. He stumbled, then smoothed the front of his robes.

“Yes, well, that is why I would like it removed as soon as possible,” he said smoothly, like he had asked for an overdue tetanus shot instead of a surgery to remove an actual bomb from somebody’s flesh.

Vokara wondered if Kenobi could  comprehend what he sounded like. He acted like the perfect Jedi padawan. He stood before her in neat robes and a neutral smile and an outward attitude of servitude. Meanwhile, his master was probably dying after a fight with an extinct enemy and he was procuring vaccinations for a super-powered slave boy with a bomb in him. That was just this mission- the last one, he had had spent wooing the duchess of kriffing Mandalore of all places. Vokara wasn’t involved in the Temple’s birds-and-bees talks, but she hoped to the Force itself that somebody had told the boy to use a condom.

“You are possibly the most infuriating Jedi in this Temple,” Vokara said.

“Sorry about that,” Kenobi responded, ducking his head. “I don’t try to be.”

Vokara sighed. “I know. That makes it worse. Go wait in room thirty-four with your boy. I’ll send a master down to help you. And do let them check you over as well. I don’t want to admit you in three days because you were bleeding internally again.”

He winced. “I have no wish to repeat that incident, Master.”

Then the Force shifted, and she knew the question was coming before Obi-wan even opened his mouth. “Could I see him before he goes into surgery?”

…

Qui-gon was a large, strong man. Seeing him on the stretcher, with too many lines tying him down, the Force humming with healers’ energy, made Obi-wan want to throw up. The room smelled like antiseptic and nervous energy and sticky-sweet bacta. Qui-gon laid low seemed to break some inalienable law of the universe.

The healers were quiet when Obi-wan stepped forward. He’d left Anakin in the room. He didn’t think the boy needed to see this. He was glad he did- his own hand trembled as he reached for Qui-gon’s.

“Master,” he whispered, squeezing the limp, cold fingers.

Qui-gon’s hands had always been warm.

“Get better,” Obi-wan whispered. “Please. Hang on, for Anakin’s sake.”

Not for Obi-wan’s sake. Qui-gon had chosen Anakin over him, and Obi-wan understood. He truly did. He hadn’t been the easiest, nor the most talented padawan. He could accept that. But he couldn’t accept Qui-gon dying. Not now- not when Anakin needed him. Not when Obi-wan needed him.

Obi-wan didn’t know how to train a child. He was barely trained himself. He still felt like a child, and he didn’t know how to run a mission without glancing over his shoulder to look for a yay or nay from Qui-gon. Even when they were fighting with each other, Qui-gon was always there, a strong presence in the Living Force, a bond in Obi-wan’s head.

Now that bond was weak and quiet. It would never come back fully- not now that Qui-gon had chosen Anakin to be his padawan instead. But that was okay- it would all be okay, as long as Qui-gon survived.

Obi-wan didn’t say any of that in front of the healers. He just squeezed Qui-gon’s hand and tried to send healing energy over their bond. But he wasn’t a healer, and he had no way to know if Qui-gon was even aware of his presence.

Somebody put a hand on his shoulder. Obi-wan took a deep breath, then dropped Qui-gon’s hand. “Take care of him,” he pleaded. “Please.”

“Of course,” Vokara said.

…

Anakin kicked his legs, bored already. Obi-wan had only left a few minutes ago, but he’d promised a healer would be along shortly. But the door remained closed for ages. How long had Anakin been waiting? Two minutes? Two hours? The room was freezing.

He hopped off the exam table and walked over to the counter. With an almost guilty curiosity, he turned on the sink. Water splashed out, cold and clean, and he turned off it off again so he wouldn’t waste any. It seemed surreal- enough water that you could just let it run down the drain? He knew that was what some other parts of the galaxy were like- he’d seen some holovids of whole oceans once. But it still didn’t seem real.

“I wish you could see this, Mom,” he said, and then, he flipped the water on and off again. It was with a guilty pleasure that he watched the droplets bead on the bottom of the sink.

Wasting water by just screwing around left a bad taste in his mouth, so Anakin moved on to opening all the drawers. He couldn’t read any of the labels- there were three languages on all of them. Basic, and two others. But none were in Huttese, and even if they were, he doubted he had the vocabulary to understand. But he recognized the first aid equipment- bandages and needles and different metal tools meant to go into different orifices that shouldn’t have metal tools inserted in them.

Anakin had moved onto playing with the blood pressure cuff on the wall (with attachments for various species) when there was a knock on the door. It opened before he had time to put the cuff back, and he flinched, waiting to get yelled at. He’d been too distracted, and hadn’t been paying attention to notice anybody approaching.

“Anakin?” A woman asked. Anakin didn’t know her species- she was small (not as small as him though) and had bright green eyes that glowed when the light reflected. Muted gray fur covered her entire body. A long, fluffy tail flicked almost out of her control, though she kept it tucked close to her legs. She wore white, like all the healers, but Anakin could tell she was a Jedi.

“I am Healer Durahba, but you may call me Kitsa,” she said, bowing. “I’m one of the healers here. I heard you just arrived?”

Anakin hastily tried to hang the cuff back up, but he miscalculated and it clattered to the ground. “Uh, yeah,” he said, picking it up again and hoping he didn’t break it. “I’m Anakin Skywalker. Um, Obi-wan should be-”

She smiled, tail flicking wildly. “Don’t worry about Obi-wan. We’ve captured him in another room. Poor boy is dehydrated, again.” She rolled her eyes, then gestured to the cuff. “We’ll be using that in a moment. I’ll show you how it works.”

“Is he okay?” Anakin asked, wide eyed. If Obi-wan was as sick as Qui-gon-

Kitsa took a step back, then held out her hands peacefully. The fur on her palms was shorter than on the rest of her body. She exuded a feeling of calm and warm and safe, like the witch-healer back on Tatooine. “I’m sorry to frighten you- he’s absolutely fine. We just check all the Jedi over after a mission. He’ll be in here shortly. Do you mind getting started, or do you want to wait for him?”

Anakin blinked. He had a choice? He didn’t want to be difficult for Obi-wan, but he didn’t know this person-

Kitsa smiled at him again, then moved to sit on the rolling stool. “We’ll wait for him,” she decided. “I want you to be comfortable here, Anakin. Remember, it’s your choice to be here.”

“Yeah…” He looked down, fidgeting with the dial on the cuff. He did feel safe. Maybe. He knew the healer was trying to make him feel safe. She didn’t go into his mind, but she filled the room. It dampened his senses to the outside world, like it was just them alone here.

But he realized, if he reached out, he could still feel Obi-wan. He was close by. Anakin pushed, just a little bit, and he sensed Obi-wan’s sudden attention, then a feeling of reassurance.

Kitsa watched him the whole time, expression relaxed, but eyes sharp. Anakin wondered if she knew what just happened.

“Would you like me to show you how that works?” she asked, nodding to the cuff in his hands. “You can try it on me, if you like.”

“Oh- that’d be wizard.” He liked that much better than the idea of being poked and prodded by a stranger.

She smiled brightly and stood up, holding her arm out. “Now, it’s already set up for humanoid. This part goes around my arm. See this dial?”

“That’s air pressure,” Anakin said, delighted that he already knew.

He felt Kitsa’s answering delight in the room. “Correct.” She took the stethoscope from around her neck (Anakin knew what that was- his mother was fond of medical dramas, the few times she could watch one. She’d said if she could be born again, she would be born as one of the doctors who saved all their patients, no matter what anybody else said. She would travel to the outer rim and secretly take the chips out of slaves on her vacations).

“Now, you’re going to listen right here, at my pulse, and tighten it until you can’t hear anything, then a little bit more. Then you’ll let off slowly- when you hear my pulse again, that will be the pressure of my heart beating. When you don’t hear anything, that will be the pressure between beats.”

Anakin nodded. “It’s kinda like hydraulics,” he said. “The heart’s the pump.”

“Exactly,” Kitsa said, nodding. “Go ahead and try it. So, I heard you were nine years old?”

“Yeah,” he said as he tightened the cuff on her. He didn’t want to do it too tight and hurt her, but he thought he could gauge it right. “Probably. That’s what Mom says.”

Sure enough, when it was blown up tight around her arm, he couldn’t hear anything. She waited patiently while he let off air little by little, until- “I hear it!”

“Good, Anakin. I believe the number is 95?”

“Yeah!” He looked up at her. “How did you know?”

She chuckled. “I like to practice on myself. Keep going- sometimes the diastolic number is tricky.”

He bit his lip in concentration, not one hundred percent sure what he was listening for. “Um- I think 60?”

She laughed. “Good job! Maybe we’ll steal you from Master Jinn and Obi-wan and make you into a healer. Go ahead and let off all the air- I can’t feel my fingers. Now, tell me about Tatooine. I’m afraid all I’m aware of are the pod races.”

“I’m a pod racer!” he said, grinning as he took the cuff off her. She took it back, hanging it up. “I just won the Boonta Eve!”

Kitsa stared at him. “That was you? I knew it was a human- you must have amazing reflexes.”

“I do,” he preened, pleased that she knew what he was talking about. Maybe this place wasn’t so awful? He started telling her about it, giving her a play by play of the race while she sat in rapt attention, gasping at all the right moments.

…

Obi-wan grit his teeth, rubbing at the massive bruise already forming on his arm. “And you wonder why I hate this place.”

The healer- Obi-wan had seen him before, but didn’t know his name- just raised an eyebrow. “If you and Master Jinn didn’t keep making unplanned trips to random planets in the disease-ridden Outer Rim, you wouldn’t need all the catchup shots.” He tossed a pamphlet towards Obi-wan. “Side effects listed on top are normal, below, come see us. But you’re not allergic to this one- I checked.”

Obi-wan tossed the pamphlet aside. He already had a low grade headache. What was nausea on top of that? “Am I done here?”

The healer grunted. “You need to drink more water, and you lost two pounds on this-”

“Oh, I lost two pounds when we didn’t have extra water in a desert.” Obi-wan rolled his eyes. “How strange.”

“Your weight still isn’t back to baseline after Mand-”

“Lift heavier, more carbs and protein.” He crossed his arms, wishing he could put his cloak back on. “Would you like to give me any other information about my own body?”

“Your blood pressure is elevated-”

“Force, I wonder why that is,” Obi-wan said in a voice that was insultingly innocent. “Can I go now?”

The healer gave him a deadpan look, then reached up and took a bottle of pills from the cabinet. “Here.”

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow, not moving. “What are those for?”

“Anti-inflammatory. For the headache.”

“Oh.” Obi-wan almost held onto his pride and refused the bottle. Almost. Then he just grunted and took it. The healer, annoyingly calm, offered him a glass of water. He even didn’t comment on Obi-wan taking five of the pills instead of the prescribed one or two (two hadn’t worked for him since he was ten).

“It says in your chart that you refused to see the Mind Healers after your last mission.”

Obi-wan choked on the water.

The healer looked up, expressionless. “Would you like to talk about that?”

Obi-wan coughed, then glowered at the healer. “No. I don’t need someone poking around in my head.”

“You fell in love, Kenobi. That leaves a mark.”

“I said no.”

“Nobody would judge you for wanting to talk about it.”

“I. Said. No.” Obi-wan got up, pocketed the bottle of pills, and pulled his undertunic back on. “I don’t need someone rearranging my head for me.”

The healer remained impassive. “That is not what they do, and you know it, Kenobi. We healers have seen far more of you than any other padawan in your age group. You have experienced many events that most would consider traumatic, and coupled with your childhood complaints of anxiety, you may find it helpful to talk to somebody.”

Obi-wan walked over to the door. His fingers rested on the handle. “If I was going to Fall, I would have done it already,” he growled at the fake wood design. “Stop worrying about me.”

For the first time, the healer broke his impassivity to heave a sigh. “Nobody thinks you’re going to Fall, Kenobi. Trust me, you’re as rooted in the Light as anybody else. We’re not trying to take care of you to prevent you from Falling. We’re taking care of you because you are a Jedi. One of us.”

“My master is in surgery,” Obi-wan said, turning around sharply. “And I have his child in my care. I don’t have time for tea and talks about feelings and people shoving their minds into my skull. I left her. She has her job and I have mine. I am sorry, alright? I told the Council, and I told Master Qui-gon, and now I’m telling you, though it’s none of your business. It’s over.”

The healer smiled sympathetically. “Can you tell me her name, at least?”

Obi-wan left. He didn’t slam the door behind him. That was uncivilized.

He turned one corner, then another, then found an alcove where he could breathe for a moment without the healer coming upon him and trying to continue their conversation. “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” he murmured, less speaking and more moving his lips. He needed to let it go. Let everything go.

Satine had been a mistake. A glorious mistake that left him aching in all the best ways, but a mistake nonetheless. He had gotten attached. Just seeing a clip of Mandalore on the news made his stomach turn flips. His secret comlink- the one that only had one number programmed and they’d both vowed never to use- lived in his desk drawer. Sometimes he took it out and prayed, deep in his heart to Stewjonian gods whose names he didn’t know, that she would call and ask him to return.

Of course, she didn’t. She was too good for that.

And yet now, it called him to him like a siren. Satine liked Qui-gon- she’d been annoyed with him, at times, but she had liked him. She would want an update. But she had no idea that Qui-gon had been injured. And what if he did call and tell her? It would distract her from her own mission of peace, and for what? For Obi-wan to hear her voice again, so she could tell him it would all be okay?

No. He wouldn’t do that to her.

Damn that healer for bringing her up.

He took another deep breath, trying to still his racing heart. He didn’t want to worry Anakin. Focus on Anakin.

Don’t center on your anxieties, Qui-gon would have told him. Focus on the here and now.

In the here and now, he had to care for Anakin. He pushed all thoughts of Mandalore from his head, and went to see how the boy was faring.

He knocked once before entering. It was Kitsa Durahba, who specialized in Youngling medicine. Obi-wan remembered her- she was the gentlest when debriding lightsaber burns (of which Obi-wan had had many). She was in the middle of taking Anakin’s temperature.

“It was interesting,” she mused as the ear thermometer beeped. She checked the number and wrote it down. “He knew you were coming before you even opened the door.”

“I can sense him,” Anakin said, frowning. “Couldn’t you?”

“Bonds of that strength are usually only found between a master-padawan pair, or field partners,” Kitsa mused, walking back over to the counter. “Now that Obi-wan is here, I’m going to take your blood, Anakin. Could you uncover your arm for me?”

Anakin groaned, but did as he was told. Obi-wan moved to stand in the corner of the room, out of the way.

“Obi-wan is going to teach me,” Anakin said, watching as she swabbed the inside of his elbow. “Since Qui-gon is hurt.”

Kitsa glanced up at Obi-wan. Her face was gentle, but her green eyes were sharp. “Now, Anakin, you do know that Obi-wan is still a padawan himself,” she said as she felt for his vein.

Anakin winced at the needle, but otherwise didn’t seem to care. Obi-wan breathed a small sigh of relief- he had been worried that Anakin would be one of those beings that screamed or fainted at needles. “He’s a Jedi,” Anakin said, shrugging with his other shoulder. “He killed that monster. I want him to teach me.”

“And I will teach him,” Obi-wan added, for Kitsa’s benefit. “Master Qui-gon recommended me for the Trials. When I pass them, I will take Anakin as my padawan, if my master is unable.”

Kitsa filled one vial, then another. Anakin looked at the wall, at Obi-wan, at the ceiling, at anything but his own blood.

“Have you talked to the Council?” she asked.

“Yes,” Obi-wan said. “I’ve spoken with Master Yoda.”

Kitsa nodded. “Then I suppose the matter is settled. That’s enough.” She pulled the needle from Anakin’s arm and pressed a cotton ball hard to the spot. “I’ll be back with your vaccinations. Obi-wan, if you could?” She nodded at the cotton ball.

He stepped forward, taking over the pressure while she left the room.

“Who’s Satine?” Anakin asked, looking up.

Obi-wan fumbled and dropped the cotton ball. A little dot of blood welled on Anakin’s arm- he’d no doubt be all black and blue now.

“Sorry, I really didn’t mean to read your mind. You were thinking loud.” Anakin pressed his thumb down to the pinprick, but watched Obi-wan curiously.

Obi-wan swallowed hard, turning so he could throw the cotton ball away. Of course- of course the boy was strong enough to pick that up. He needed to meditate. He needed to figure out how strong this new bond actually was. Not that it was Anakin’s fault, of course. It was Obi-wan’s fault for not realizing it was forming until it was already there. He probably shared a new bond with Qui-gon too.

“She’s… a girl,” he finally said, then winced at how weak that sounded.

Anakin grinned, delight bubbling through the Force. “A girl? Your girl? Can I meet her? Are you in love? Are you gonna get marr-”

“No!” Obi-wan whirled around, hands up. “No- the Jedi don’t- we don’t get… married.” The word felt foreign on his tongue. “Attachment of that sort is forbidden.”

“Love is forbidden?” Anakin’s amusement turned to confusion, then frustration. “Why?”

“We’re…” Obi-wan waved a hand, not sure exactly how to explain realities that he had known since he was very, very young. “We’re married to our work.” he said. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain it to you more fully later, but in simple terms, attachments weaken us. They can cloud our judgement.”

“Mom says love keeps us strong,” Anakin said, almost accusingly. “You love Qui-gon. I can feel it.”

The pills were not touching Obi-wan’s headache, a sure sign that he needed to sleep for a hundred years, then meditate for a hundred more.

He wondered if they were cutting Qui-gon open now. His master’s body, flayed open so all the world could see his beating heart. Did it still beat for Tahl? Could the healers see her name carved into his bones? Maybe she drifted in the room, observing, a ghost waiting to shepherd her love to the Force.

Thankfully, Kitsa walked back into the room before they could discuss Obi-wan’s issues with attachment anymore. “Take off your shirt, Anakin,” she said, lining up needles on the counter.

Anakin stared at the big pile, immediately dropping the conversation. Obi-wan was grateful for that much.

…

Anakin could have cried in relief when the last needle was pulled out of his shoulder. He felt sore, and multiple tiny punctures bled little red lines down his limbs. There were so many shots, and Kitsa said he wasn’t even done- a bunch of them had to be done over time, so he would have to return again in a month for more.

But he squeezed his eyes shut tight and didn’t complain. Obi-wan was already awesome. Anakin could feel his presence, that calming ocean. It washed over him and soothed away some of the ache in a cool tide. The fresh bruises still hurt, but in a less immediate sense, like Obi-wan was brushing away some of the pain. Anakin wished he knew that trick back home- he could have used it when Kitster broke his leg last year.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes with the supplies for the chip,” Healer Kitsa said. “You’re doing very well, Anakin. Obi-wan, if he starts to get light headed or nauseous, just give a shout down the hall.”

Obi-wan nodded solemnly.

Kitsa closed the door lightly behind her.

“Well, Anakin, do you feel light headed or nauseous?” He walked over to the cabinets and started rifling through them, then carried a few gauze pads and a box of bandages over to the table.

“No.” Anakin held out his arm, wincing as Obi-wan dabbed at the spot left from a particularly large gauge needle. The muscle underneath felt tender. He doubted he’d be able to lift his arm tomorrow. “It hurts.”

“They got me too,” Obi-wan said, sticking a band-aid to the spot. He pulled up his own sleeve so Anakin could see the swollen needle mark. “It was for some special type of meningitis you only get on the Outer Rim.” He dropped his sleeve and stuck another bandage to Anakin’s arm.

“I know that one,” he said, watching Obi-wan work. His hands were cold against Anakin’s skin, making him shiver where he touched. Qui-gon’s hands had been warm, almost hot. Mom’s hands were warm, comfortable. “I heard the slavers talking about it. One time, it wiped out a whole warehouse in two weeks.” He poked at a needle prick on his thigh- that one hadn’t been as bad. “I guess it makes your brain swell up or something.”

Obi-wan paused, holding a piece of gauze to Anakin’s arm. The ocean of calm in the room rippled, setting Anakin on edge. “The slavers?”

“Yeah, they talk all the time. They come into Watto’s shop a lot- he’s got the best prices and the best stuff. Mostly ‘cause I’m the one who fixes everything up.” He leaned his head against Obi-wan’s chest, listening to the Jedi’s heartbeat. “Do I have to get the chip out today? I don’t want any more needles.”

“Sorry, Ani.” Obi-wan fluffed Anakin’s hair up. “It’ll be the last thing. Then I’ll get us some food.”

“I don’t like the healers.”

Anakin felt the vibration of Obi-wan’s chuckle more than he heard it. “I hate them too. But they’re a necessary evil. You might feel a little sick over the next few days. Runny nose, coughing… that’s normal if you do.”

Anakin groaned. Obi-wan rubbed his back, small, calming circles. “We’re almost done here,” he promised.

“I wish Mom was here,” Anakin whispered.

Obi-wan sighed. “I’m sorry, young one.”

Kitsa knocked once, then pushed open the door. She pushed a cart. Anakin didn’t dare look at it, because he didn’t want to see the sharp things that would cut him open. He shivered. The cold air made his sore muscles tense.

Obi-wan squeezed his shoulder, then walked to the other side of the room to pull something from his cloak. Anakin shivered at his absence, wrapping his arms around his body. “Here it is,” Obi-wan said, handing a device to the healer. “It’s shut down and harmless. My master made sure, and I double checked.”

Kitsa checked it as well.

Anakin dropped his head to his arms, curling into himself. His mouth felt dry. Obi-wan had the detonator to his chip. Obi-wan could destroy him, with a flip of a switch. The air vent flipped on, blasting cold air against his tender muscles.

Anakin had seen it happen. A girl in the street- she was pregnant, and she screamed that she wouldn’t have this life for her baby. And she ran and she ran and she ran and her masters laughed and then they realized she was worth six hundred for being a pretty female plus two-fifty for the baby and they tried to stop her from going over the city line and there was so much blood in the sand-

And then there was old Mezzin the storyteller- his grandson was getting beaten by his master and Mezzin swung a punch and the master hit the button and it was like a pop and the blood had stained Anakin’s clothes and Watto smacked him for getting dirty-

And there was the twi-lek girl- Anakin didn’t know her name- and she was crying when the man at that party was touching her, and Anakin had to serve him his drink even though he felt slimy just to look at, and he slapped the girl and told her if he couldn’t have her then nobody could and she just exploded and the chunks of her lekku splashed when they landed on Anakin’s tray and spilled the drinks-

“Anakin!”

He shuddered, realizing that Obi-wan had grabbed his shoulders.

“Anakin, look at me. Breathe. It’s okay.”

And there was that ocean again, cool, calm, surrounding him. There was nothing but water for miles and miles, washing away the pain.

“It’s okay, Ani- Just breathe.”

Anakin reached out and pressed his hands against Obi-wan’s chest. He tangled his fingers in the Jedi’s robes and let himself fall into the rhythm of Obi-wan’s breathing. Inhale. Exhale. With a dry sob, he collapsed forward.

“I know,” Obi-wan murmured, rubbing his back. “It’s okay, Ani.”

He squeezed his eyes tight closed and buried his face in Obi-wan’s chest, clinging to him.

“He should see the mind healers,” he heard Kitsa say. He didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded scary and he clung harder to Obi-wan.

“Later,” Obi-wan said. “I want to get him settled. Then they can talk to him.” He kept rubbing Anakin’s back. “I’m not sure what Tatooine is like- Qui-gon and Padmé went into the city, not me. I know, Ani. I’m right here. He’s had a long day.”

“You both have,” Kitsa said.

Anakin heard running water, then soft footsteps. “Anakin,” the healer said. “Look at me, please.”

He didn’t. He clung harder to Obi-wan.

“Anakin,” Obi-wan said gently. “It’s okay. Just water.”

He didn’t want water. He didn’t want the stupid healer. He didn’t even want Obi-wan. He just wanted his mom, but she was a thousand planets away and his arms hurt and this karking Jedi was going to cut into him and it was so cold.

“Anakin, remember what you told me?” Obi-wan’s voice was soft. His hand was cool on Anakin’s back. “You bring water to each other in the desert. Drink something, young one. It will help.”

Anakin loosened his grip enough to glance to the side. Kitsa stood, a cup of water outstretched.

“Go on,” Obi-wan said, nudging him.

He took it, sipping it slowly. It tasted like nothing- none of the metal of the collecting troughs or the rust of the vaporators or the salt of someone’s sweat. It was dead water. Obi-wan kept rubbing his back while he drank it. Anakin turned his head to drink, but otherwise remained pressed against Obi-wan.

“Can we do this tomorrow?” Obi-wan asked the healer.

“We have to do it now. It’s a matter of safety.”

“I know.” The ocean of calm in the room was broken by a ripple of frustration. “Can you put him under?”

“There are risks involved in anesthesia, and without a more thorough medical exam-”

“How much more thorough can you get?” Obi-wan snapped at her, his arms tightening around Anakin. The ocean became gray and choppy.

“Padawan Kenobi!” Kitsa's voice turned hard and stern, putting Obi-wan in his place.

Obi-wan took a deep breath. It made the cup bounce in Anakin’s hand, and he spilled a drop of water on Obi-wan’s tunic. Cream fabric turned into a darker brown. Choppy waves calmed to ripples.

“Forgive me, Master,” Obi-wan said, bowing his head. “I let my frustration get the better of me.”

Anakin flinched, squeezing his eyes shut. Forgive me, Master. How many times had he heard that line? It sounded fucked up from Obi-wan’s mouth.

Kitsa sighed. “I’m just going to have to do it quickly. Sit in that chair and hold him for me. Does he know how to meditate yet?”

Anakin trembled, but wrapped his arms obediently around Obi-wan’s neck when the Jedi picked him up.

“No, but we bonded.” Obi-wan carried him a few steps from the exam table, then sat with him. Anakin melted, dropping his head and squeezing his eyes tight. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He wanted to go home. “I think I can do it for him.”

“Good. Keep him calm for me. Soothe him. Now, Anakin, I’m going to numb the spot. You’ll feel cold alcohol, my needle pricking you, and some slight burning. Then you won’t feel anything. Focus on Obi-wan.”

Anakin dry-sobbed again. He felt stupid, almost-crying in Obi-wan’s arms. They probably all thought he was a baby. He wanted to go home.

“We’re taking out the chip, Ani,” Obi-wan said. “You’ll be free. I know it’s frightening. But you’re in good hands.”

The room felt muffled. Anakin couldn’t sense the rest of the Temple, or hear the roaring chaos of the city-planet beyond it. There was only Obi-wan. “Breathe, young one,” Obi-wan said softly. “It’s okay. Just relax.”

“You’re doing well, Obi-wan. Keep him calm.”

Anakin felt the cold on his back, under his shoulder blade, then the prick of the needle. He winced at the burn of the numbing medicine as it ripped through his nerves. He imagined a planet- they were in a forest, and water fell from the sky. It dripped down the leaves and there was so much green- Anakin had never seen anything like it. It was so vivid a vision that he could almost feel the water dripping down his face, cold and clear and-

And there was a girl up ahead. She turned with a smile, her blonde hair flat in the rain, and laughed at him- and then the vision shattered.

“Sorry,” Obi-wan grunted, breathing hard. Anakin became aware of a tugging in his back, under his shoulder inside him-

And there was the rain again. It pattered against the leaves, dripping down in rivulets that splashed into puddles that formed streams and rivers that drained into the ocean, and Anakin fell in. The water closed over his head and the world was dark and cool and silent-

“It’s out,” Kitsa said, carrying the chip over to the counter. She set it on a pile of paper towels. It stained them red. “I’m just stitching you up, Anakin. You’re nearly done.”

“You’re doing great,” Obi-wan murmured, rubbing his arm. “Almost there, Ani.”

The ocean waves washed Anakin away. He floated out over the white caps and past the breakers onto open water, so deep and so blue that it made his heart ache. He could float here forever, safe from the horror of the galaxy-

“You’re done, Ani,” Obi-wan said, and the ocean vanished.

Anakin was alone in his head again. Obi-wan stood up, but Anakin clung harder.

“Alright,” Obi-wan said softly. “Let’s get your shirt back on, and then we can get some rest. Okay?”

Anakin didn’t have the energy to answer, so he just nodded. Something wet landed on his cheek. For a second, he thought the rain followed him from the vision to real life. Then he looked up, and realized that Obi-wan’s nose was bleeding.

…

It took only the slightest Force suggestion from Kitsa to knock Anakin out cold. He slumped against Obi-wan, exhaustion doing most of the work in putting him to sleep.

Force, Kitsa felt old. She and Jinn had been padawans together- she’d practiced her stitches on him when he got in trouble. She’d watched Obi-wan grow up- in fact, not so long ago, she had been the one to do his entry physical exam. He’d been a quiet babe, with those big blue-green eyes that followed her around the room, at least until she’d pulled out the needles. Then he’d screamed like she was torturing him, and apparently (judging by his unrelenting scorn) he’d never gotten over that initial bad impression.

Now she gathered her notes on Anakin Skywalker, who was to be Obi-wan’s padawan.

Three generations, she’d worked on. Was she old enough to retire yet?

She handed Obi-wan a wad of tissues for his nose. “He’s powerful,” she said. “Even if I didn’t know his midichlorian count, I can feel it. I know you can feel it.”

Obi-wan shifted so he could support Anakin with one arm and mop up his nose with the other, tilting his head forward. A few drops fell to his leg. Kitsa squashed the urge to lean forward and take the tissues to clean him herself- he hadn’t been her patient since he was twelve.

“I have no doubts about your power, Obi-wan,” she continued. “Your count is lower than his, but you’ve had more practice and field experience than most padawans your age. Should the Council ask me, I will vouch for you as Anakin’s master.”

His head jerked up, surprised. She wondered how much of a fight he’d faced already. Blood still dribbled from one nostril, like he was five and having bad visions again.

“But Anakin is special,” she continued, catching Obi-wan’s eye and making sure he heard her. “He will require extra care- I’ve already seen signs of trauma in him. We will be keeping an eye on him as well. Do you understand?”

“I do, Master,” he said, bowing his head.

She reached out, feeling for his presence, but Obi-wan had shielded himself well in the Force. It was no matter- they would be grounded at the Temple for a while after this mission, and she would have time to observe Anakin when he’d had time to calm down.

“Master Che gave me an update,” she said, and Obi-wan perked up, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” Kitsa said, shaking her head. “Don’t look so eager- she said it would be eight or nine hours at least until he’s out of surgery. Go home. Eat something, and get some sleep. You’ve stretched yourself too thin- that’s why you’re bleeding. I’m sure your brain feels like it’s been through the ringer. Only sleep will make you feel better.”

He dropped his head again. “Yes, Master,” he said, then stood up.

“I’m serious, Kenobi. Get some sleep, or Che will admit you. You’re already tired, and that boy drained you even more. Sleep.”

It took him a moment to shift Anakin so the boy was resting on his hip, but he did nod his understanding before he fled. His hate of the Halls of Healing trailed behind him like a comet in the Force as he made a beeline for the exit.

Truly, Vokara had told Kitsa to keep the two boys in the Halls. But chief healer or not, Vokara was young and too much of a stickler for rules. Kitsa knew her patients, and she knew there would be no chance of Obi-wan sleeping or eating if he was in a waiting room. Better to send him home where everything was familiar, and call him back when he was needed.

Chapter Text

Bant waited outside the Halls of Healing, knowing Obi-wan would appear at any moment now. Rumors traveled quickly in the Temple- for a mystic people of stoicism and serenity, they thrived on gossip. She had heard from three different people that the Jinn/Kenobi team was back with a youngling in tow. She’d heard from one of them that the boy was Qui-gon’s illegitimate son. A classmate had pulled her aside and asked her if it was true that Obi-wan screwed the Queen of Naboo- wasn’t that two planet queens in a row? How did his ginger ass get so much action?

That was all on her way to the Halls of Healing, and she was ready to scream. How did people already know that they were back? And how had the story gotten so warped so quickly? What was the actual story?

Now she waited just outside, leaning against the wall.

“You’re friends with that Kenobi kid, aren’t you?”

Bant turned. She didn’t recognize the knight speaking to her, and didn’t give him a response. She wasn’t interested in more rumors. She was waiting for her friend to be discharged.

The knight leaned in. “Watch out- I heard he went Dark Side.”

Bant frowned, turning. “What? Obi-wan would never-”

The knight shook his head. “I’m just telling you what I heard,” he said. “They found something on Naboo- that’s why Jinn’s in a coma. But it drove Kenobi kriffin’ mad- I heard from my brother-padawan who heard from his sister who lives on Naboo that they found someone’s legs at the bottom of this reactor, but not the top half. Lightsaber chop.”

Bant stared at the knight, horrified. “What? Obi-wan wouldn’t-”

The knight raised his hands innocently. “Look, I’m just telling you because I saw you two sparring together. Watch he doesn’t chop you in half too.”

The doors opened and Obi-wan appeared, holding a sleeping child on his hip. “Bant,” he said with a soft sigh. “And Knight Kamardé?”

Knight Kamardé gave a stiff wave and made a swift exit down the hall. Bant shook her head, and shook off the rumors as well. She knew her friend- he looked tired, but certainly not mad. “Obi-wan,” she said, hurrying forward. “I’m so glad you’re alright. And Master Jinn…?”

Obi-wan shook his head. “He’s in surgery. It’ll be eight hours at least until the healers call.”

“Oh, Obi. I’m sorry.” She reached out and rested a hand on his arm, then brushed her fingers through the hair of the boy. “And who’s this?”

“Anakin Skywalker.” Obi-wan started walking, his gait slightly awkward with the weight of a child a bit too big to be carried. “He’s my… my padawan, I suppose.”

Bant stopped short.

“Please don’t make a big deal,” Obi-wan said, still walking. His steps echoed on the tiled floor. “I’ve already spoken with Master Yoda.”

Bant started walking again. She knew she was too expressive, and she knew that Obi-wan was deliberately not looking at the shock and bewilderment written all over her face. “Obi, you’re not much older than me,” she said, hurrying to catch up. “I’m not ready for a padawan- how can you be?”

“Killed a Sith.” He hit the button on the lift with his elbow, then shifted Anakin’s weight higher up on his hip.

His words were so nonchalant that it took Bant a second. “You what?”

“Mmm. Yes. Turns out they weren’t as extinct as the Council would have us believe.” The lift came. Obi-wan stepped in, then held his foot in the door so Bant would have enough time to enter as well. “Could you hit my floor for me?” he asked politely, stepping back.

“So they’re knighting you?” She blinked rapidly, unable to reconcile the image of her tired friend in front of her with her own fantasy of a bold, heroic Sith-slayer of old. She hit the number for his floor on autopilot. “Obi- that’s… congratulations.”

He raised an eyebrow. “They have to knight me, I think. But that’s just if they accept Anakin into the Order. If they don’t… well.”

Bant stared at him. He shifted, looking up at the numbers on the lift doors instead of at her. They stopped early, and the lift opened to a group of initiates. They whispered amongst themselves, wide-eyed, then one of them said, “We’ll take the next one, Padawan Kenobi!”

The doors closed again, and his mouth turned into a thin line. He knew how rumors flew as much as anybody else.

“You would leave?” Bant hissed. “Again? Obi-wan, you can’t-”

He turned and gave her the flattest look imaginable. He could leave. He would leave. He had done it before, and he would do it again. Kenobi’s loyalty to the Order only lasted as long as it lined up with his own morals. It was something Bant both admired and hated about him.

“For this boy?” she asked, reaching out into the Force. What was so special- oh. Oh.

On the surface, he was just another human child. But below that, as soon as one slipped through his weak, instinctive shields, he blazed like a small sun. Bant had never seen anybody so powerful. She staggered when the lift stopped at their floor. Obi-wan made an aborted move as though to catch her arm, but his own arms were full of Anakin.

“Force, Obi-wan,” she said, following him out into the residential halls. “Where’d you find him?”

“My master found him on Tatooine.” They walked a few paces until they came to a door marked Jinn/Kenobi. He gave Bant a helpless look.

“It’s unlocked,” she said, moving past him to open the door. “Reeft’s getting food ready for you. Garen’s on mission, but he’ll be back in the next couple days.”

Obi-wan staggered in, nodded to Reeft in the kitchen, and disappeared to his room to lay Anakin on his bed. It was clear he meant the move to be gentle, but he wasn’t used to carrying a child and he lost his own balance. He half dropped Anakin on the thin mattress, half fell himself, sprawling over the boy. Anakin stirred and mumbled something.

“It’s okay,” Obi-wan whispered, reaching out to brush the boy’s hair out of his face. “Keep sleeping.”

Bant stepped forward, ready to use a force suggestion if she had to, but she’d underestimated Anakin’s tiredness. He just rolled over on the bed, consciousness fading as quick as it had returned. Obi-wan took a deep breath, then pulled off his cloak and draped it over the boy. Only when he was sure that Anakin was okay did he return to the main living space. “Hello, Reeft.”

“Hey, Obi-wan.” Reeft leaned against the counter. A vat of stew simmered on the stove, warm and inviting. Bread baked in the oven. The whole apartment smelled amazing. “Who’s the kid? How’s Master Jinn?”

Obi-wan glanced at the chrono, then waved a hand towards Bant. “You can catch him up,” he said, and disappeared into his master’s room.

Bant frowned, watching through the door as Obi-wan put a lightsaber in Qui-gon’s dresser. “Master Jinn is in surgery for the next eight hours. Obi-wan is taking Anakin as his padawan even though he’s still a padawan. And he killed a Sith!”

“What?” Reeft’s face, already covered in wrinkles, seemed to disappear in his extra skin with his confusion. “A- hold up, wasn’t this supposed to be an easy mission after Manda-”

“I don’t want to talk about Mandalore,” Obi-wan said, stepping out of Master Jinn’s room. He stood in the center of the living area for a second, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yes. It was easy. We were to ascertain whether the Trade Federation’s blockade was legal and see if we couldn’t negotiate some agreement between them and the Naboo.” He let out a laugh. “I think the Council was trying to test me. It turned out wonderfully.”

Reeft’s confusion was clear in the Force. “I heard Master Jinn was hurt, but a Sith Lord?”

Obi-wan, still irritatingly calm, moved past Bant and Reeft to the kitchen. “A Sith Lord,” he agreed amicably, taking a half-full bottle of liquor from the upper cabinet. Someone had stuck a flimsy to the label that said, Property of Qui-gon Jinn- children do not partake. That had been crossed off and replaced with Property of Duchess Kryze- Jetiise do not partake. That too had been crossed off, and in the space remaining said, I need this to deal with you two.

Obi-wan poured a small amount of it into a glass, and downed it. He considered the empty glass, glanced at the chrono, then took a mouthful directly from the bottle. The other two other padawans stared at him.

“You shouldn’t be drinking right now,” Bant said softly. “I know it’s stressful, but…”

Obi-wan shrugged and moved to sit at the table. “How have you two been? Reeft, you said you had that big test coming up in Advanced Nav?”

Reeft stared at him, then glanced at Bant incredulously. “You see this? He is making small talk about my test when he just killed a Sith Lord.” He threw his hands up. “I might as well quit now- I’ll never be the Jedi that Kenobi is.”

Obi-wan winced. “You were worried about it. I want to know how it went.”

Bant shot a glare at Reeft. “Is that ready?” she asked, and grabbed a bowl before he could reply, filled it, and set it in front of Obi-wan. “Eat.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, then glanced at Reeft. “So? Did you pass?”

“Yeah, I did fine.” Reeft opened the oven and pulled out the bread, setting it on the stove to cool. “Don’t cut into that yet, or it’ll go flat.” Then he got himself a bowl of soup too and sat at the table next to Obi-wan. “I still can’t believe you got out of Advanced Nav.”

“I’m terrible at the calculations. My master signed off for me.” Obi-wan admitted. He poked at a piece of meat floating in the soup. “Has anything else happened while I was gone?”

“Um…” Reeft shrugged. “Not really… they’re redoing some of the paths in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. And some padawans wrecked one of the training rooms. So, if you killed a Sith, does that mean the Council’s knighting you?”

“Master Jinn already recommended me, actually.” Obi-wan dropped his gaze to the soup, poking at it without actually raising the spoon to his mouth. “He wanted to train Anakin himself. I was ready for the Trials anyways.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. “He did what?” Bant asked, wide eyed. She tried to imagine Master Fisto recommending her so he could train somebody else- she couldn't even conjure the image. “Is he allowed to do that?”

“No, apparently. The Council didn’t think I was ready, or that Anakin should be trained.” His eyes flit back up to the counter, but thankfully he didn’t go for the bottle. “I showed them.” The words were bitterly sarcastic.

“Please eat something,” Bant said, ignoring his sarcasm. She leaned across the table to push the bowl closer to him. “Look, Reeft’s already halfway done.”

Obi-wan made a face. “I’m not hungry,” he said.

Bant grimaced in sympathy. “Is it the headaches again?”

He didn’t answer, but Bant knew his history. Force sensitivity plus lack of sleep plus dehydration meant that Obi-wan’s head was pounding hard enough that she would be able to feel it, if she reached through their friendship bond. She had no desire to feel his discomfort. Instead, she got up and filled the kettle with water.

“I hope you didn’t take those two shots on top of any headache meds,” she said as she set the kettle on the stove.

“Obi-wan!” Reeft’s exclamation was both shocked and amused.

Bant jerked back around, arms already crossed. “Obi-wan Kenobi. You know better.”

“It was barely two shots,” Obi-wan grumbled, dropping his head down to his hands. “That’s nothing.”

“Next it’ll be death sticks,” Bant grumbled, turning back to the kettle. “Eat that soup, Kenobi. I don’t care if you throw it up in ten minutes.”

“Normally I’d eat it for you, but in this case I agree,” Reeft said. “Need me to spoon feed you like a youngling?”

Bant turned around just in time to see Obi-wan’s glower towards both of them, before he sullenly sipped at the broth.

“The comlink in your desk was beeping earlier,” Reeft said after Obi-wan had taken a few sulky bites. “I didn’t answer it- what's with the secret second comm? It's for your side gig as a dancer, isn't it?"

The joke fell flat when Obi-wan choked. “She called?”

…

Obi-wan’s friends offered to leave, to give him some privacy. Obi-wan almost took them up on it. Almost. But as he looked down at the comlink in his hands, he realized he needed witnesses here. If his friends were there, Obi-wan wouldn’t ask her to ask him to come back.

His hands shook as he walked from his room to the main room and sat down on the couch. His head hurt and his stomach turned flips and his mouth was dry. The few bites of soup felt like they’d stuck in his throat, halfway down, choking him.

His friends sat across from him on chairs dragged from the kitchen. Reeft gently kicked his leg. “You don’t have to call her back, you know.”

Obi-wan stared at the comlink in his hand. A light blinked on and off, on and off. Missed call. Missed call. Missed call. The love of his life. The mistake of his life. Hard eyes and soft lips and Force his head hurt. He dropped the comlink on the table and dropped his head to his hands. The room spun around that beeping light. He’d overdone it keeping Anakin calm. Trying to calm that boy was like trying to calm a hurricane.

“Obi?” Bant’s voice was soft. “Do you want me to do it for you?”

No, it was his responsibility.

But his hand betrayed him, and he pushed the comlink over to Bant. Then he drew his legs up on the couch, dropping his head to the back.

“She probably heard about Qui-gon,” he said, voice slightly muffled by the cushion. “You can tell her about him- not about the Sith, probably. I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you two either. It might be classified.”

Bant nodded. “Anything else?”

I love her. I miss her. Ask me to come back. I’ll bring Anakin and we can raise him together. “No. That’s it.”

“Alright.”

Obi-wan dropped an arm over his face, blocking out the light. The room spun. The couch threatened to buck him off. Reeft put a hand on his arm, his Force presence an anchor. The worst was that Obi-wan knew eating would help, but he didn’t think he could choke anything else down.

The comlink beeped in Bant’s hands. Then there was the static of a connection.

“Ben, I called as soon as I- you’re not Obi-wan.”

Blast, even her voice was enough to throw Obi-wan over the edge. He dug his nails into the couch, then forced himself to get up and walk to the kitchen. He kept his back to the hologram. Seeing her would hurt too much. Kriff, he was pathetic.

“Duchess Kryze,” Bant said, stilted and formal like she was on a mission. “My name is Padawan Eerin- I’m friends with Padawan Kenobi.”

Silence for a moment. “Of course,” Satine said, voice cold and void as deep space. Then she rallied. “I was calling in regards to Master Jinn- I had heard that he was injured on Naboo, and as I owe him my life multiple times over, I was hoping to find out how he was doing.”

Obi-wan poured the hot water into the cup, then added a tea bag. It was weak, but he didn’t have the energy to properly brew a whole pot. The milk in the fridge had spoiled while they were on mission. He resigned himself to drinking it black.

“Master Jinn is in surgery at the moment,” Bant said. “He’s in the care of our healers.” Obi-wan could feel Bant’s gaze burning into his back. He still didn’t turn around.

“Of course. Thank you, Padawan Eerin. Give Master Jinn my best regards.”

“I will. May the Force be with you.”

“And with you.” Satine cut the call. The room was silent.

“She looked pissed that you didn’t answer, Obi-wan.” Reeft finally said.

“No, that’s just her normal face,” Bant corrected swiftly. “She just always looks angry. She’s Mandalorian.”

“Right, of course. They’re angry people, those Mandos.”

Obi-wan sank down into a chair, wrapping his hands around the warm mug. He should have answered. Attachment. This all boiled down to attachment. He was attached, and he couldn’t let her go, and now he couldn’t even give her a call to tell her that Qui-gon was hurt. “I need to sleep,” he muttered into the mug.

“So sleep,” Reeft said. “We can leave if you want.”

He shrugged, and heaved himself up from the chair just so he could collapse on the couch with his cup of tea. The comlink remained on the table, innocuous and damning all at the same time.

“Or we can stick around,” Bant offered. “That way if the healers call early, we can wake you up.”

“I… could you?” He took a sip of his tea. It burnt his tongue. He set it on the end table next to his comlink. “You don’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Reeft said, waving a hand. “I was already planning on skipping class today anyways. It was just-”

Obi-wan passed out before he’d even finished talking.

…

“How long did you say Jinn was in surgery for?” Reeft asked, getting up to stir the soup again.

“Eight hours.” Bant made herself a cup of tea as well. “He has time to sleep.” She blew gently on the surface of the hot water, then shook her head. “Our Obi, killing Sith Lords.”

Reeft covered the soup and turned off the heat- it was done. Now he just hoped Obi-wan would actually eat it. He never quite knew what to do in these kinds of situations, but food made everybody feel better, right? “I thought the Sith were extinct,” he said, turning towards Bant. “Did the Council lie, or did they not know?”

Bant didn’t answer, but her eyes betrayed her fear. They all knew the stories. They all knew the history. The Sith were the monsters of long ago days, dead in their graves. Their experience with dark siders was bad enough. How awful was an actual Sith?

“Obi-wan always gets those bad feelings,” she said slowly. “I always thought he was just anxious about nothing, but maybe…”

“The only thing Obi-wan gets good feelings about are angry blondes,” Reeft pointed out, crossing his arms. “He definitely wasn’t feeling the Sith in the galaxy. He’s not that powerful.” He hesitated, looking over at his friend. Right now, Obi-wan certainly didn’t look that powerful. His face was squished into the cushion and one of his arms fell free, his knuckles trailing on the ground. “Nobody’s that powerful.”

Bant stared into her tea. “I think the boy might be. Anakin.”

“Blast, I forgot about Anakin.” Reeft leaned over so he could see through Obi-wan’s doorway. The boy continued to sleep too, wrapped in Obi-wan’s cloak. “You think they’ll actually let Obi train him?”

“Look at him, Reeft. Actually look at him, beyond his outer shields.” Bant wrapped her hands around her mug. “He’s the most powerful Force user I’ve ever seen.”

Reeft looked- it took him a moment to shift his awareness, and then it blinded him. He winced and drew back to himself, tightening his own shields. “It’s like he burns you,” he said, staring. “He looks like a normal human…”

“But he’s not,” Bant finished.

…

Anakin drifted awake, his whole body sore like he’d gotten a good beating. His mouth was dry as sand, but the mattress beneath him was thicker than he was used to, and he was warm for once. The cloak tossed over him smelled of soap and stars and tea. Obi-wan’s cloak.

He pulled it around himself, shoving his arms through the sleeves, and got up slowly. He didn’t remember coming here, but it was a bedroom. There were datapads stacked on the desk, a model ship that someone had carefully put together (wrong- he could already see mixed up parts), a few plants with drooping, browned leaves. People talked quietly in the next room- Anakin ventured to the doorway, hoping it wasn’t the Counselors.

It wasn’t them- instead it was a Dressellian man and a Mon Calamari woman, both dressed as Jedi. The Dressellian saw Anakin first- his face lit up, the smile almost comical with all the wrinkles. He felt like a friend. “Hey, kid. You’re awake.”

“Is Obi-wan here?”

“Asleep on the couch.” The Mon Cal turned around and smiled as well. Her eyes were kind and her presence was gentle. “I’m Bant, and this is Reeft. We’re friends with Obi-wan.”

“I’ve got some soup and bread here, if you want it,” Reeft said, getting up from the table and picking out a bowl. “You hungry?”

Anakin held the extra fabric of Obi-wan’s cloak so it wouldn’t trail on the ground and walked over to him. Obi-wan was definitely asleep- the ocean of his mind seemed far away, like waves on a distant shore. His face was squished into the corner between the seat and back of the couch. The thrum of a headache had dissipated to a distant pulse beat, no longer wearing at the edge of Anakin’s awareness.

Bant put a hand on his back and led him over to the table. “Let Obi sleep,” she said, pulling out a chair for him. “He’s alright- he’s just tired. It was a big mission for him.”

Reeft set a bowl of soup and a spoon in front of him. “Thanks,” Anakin said, feeling a little awkward about being served instead of doing the serving. He took a bite anyways, and immediately realized how hungry he was. He shoved another bite into his mouth, not caring if it burned him a little.

“Slow down,” Bant said with a laugh. “Force, he eats like you, Reeft.”

“Shut up,” Reeft grumbled, embarrassment and amusement tangible.

Anakin ignored them and focused on his dinner? Breakfast? He wasn’t sure what time it was.

“Are those the clothes you came here in?” Bant asked.

Anakin nodded, mouth full. “Yeah,” he said, when he could speak again. “Sorry if I’m getting sand everywhere.”

“Did Obi-wan get you new clothes yet?”

He shook his head, muted by a large piece of chewy bread crust.

“He looks normal sized. A little small.” Bant glanced over at Reeft. “I’ll stay with them if you want to go pick up some clothes for Anakin?”

Reeft hopped up. “Sure. Obi-wan owes me though. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Anakin sopped up the last of the broth with the last of his bread. He was still hungry, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask for more. But Bant seemed to read his mind, reaching over to take his bowl and refill it. “Force knows I’m glad I don’t have to convince you to eat,” she muttered, shooting a glare towards Obi-wan’s prone form. “I can only deal with one picky eater as a friend.”

Anakin followed her eyes, then laughed a little. “He hates everything,” he said, pleased to find something to agree on. “We were in this cafeteria and there was so much, and he had, like, one piece of fruit.”

Bant rolled her eyes again. “Of course he did. How about you, Anakin? How are you doing?”

Her concern washed over him. It made him uncomfortable, like she was searching for his weaknesses. He could tell she meant well, but he still felt exposed. “I’m okay,” he said, shifting in the chair. “I want Qui-gon to get better. And my arms hurt from the shots.”

“I think I can help with that,” Bant said.

She got up and walked over to Obi-wan, reaching under him for his pockets. He muttered something, shifting away from her, and she hushed him.

The shushing just woke him. Anakin could sense his consciousness, though it was still bleary and far away. “What?”

“Hush, Obi. Your headache meds, are they actual pain pills or just anti-inflammatories? For Anakin.”

“Is he…?”

Anakin felt Obi-wan’s mind brush against his, but it was a clumsy, unfocused feeling. He took another bite of soup, watching them.

Bant pushed him back down. “He’s fine. He’s eating.”

Obi-wan shifted again, reaching into his tunic and pulling out a small bottle. “Start him with one,” he murmured, and then his awareness was gone as he slipped back to sleep.

Bant turned the bottle around, reading over the instructions. A moment later, she’d set a pill and a glass of water in front of him. “See if that helps,” she said. “They must have done a number on you. It is necessary though- you don’t want to get sick later.”

“It’s not like I have worms or anything,” Anakin grumbled, sipping the water. It was cold after the hot of the soup. “Are you a Jedi too?”

Bant smiled, sitting across from him. “I am,” she said, nodding. “Obi-wan and I grew up together. I heard you were going to be a Jedi?”

He finished the second bowl of soup and licked the rest of the broth off the spoon. “Yeah. Maybe. Master Yoda and Master Windu hate me though. I think they’re mad at Obi-wan for saying he’d teach me.” He glanced over at Obi-wan. The soup suddenly felt heavy in his stomach. “I don’t want to get him in trouble.”

“Obi-wan gets himself into plenty of trouble on his own.” Bant reached out and set her hand on his. Her skin was cool and smooth. “Don’t you worry, Anakin. If Obi-wan says you’re going to be a Jedi, then I know you will be. He’ll be a good teacher.”

Anakin nodded, swallowing hard as he looked over at Obi-wan. He wanted to wake him up, but he knew Obi-wan needed sleep. And some people got angry when you woke them up. He trusted Obi-wan, but he didn't want to push it too much.

“So what do you like to do?” Bant asked, breaking his concentration. “Any books or shows that you like?”

“I’m a mechanic,” he said, turning back to Obi-wan’s friend. “I can fix anything.”

“Anything?” Bant asked, her eyes sparkling.

“Yeah. Anything.” He nodded, preening just a little. “I’m awesome. Watto rents me out because I’m so good.”

“Hmm…” Bant smiled at him, then darted to Obi-wan’s room. She returned a moment later with the model ship- the one that had been put together wrong. “Obi-wan tried to do this a few years ago,” she said. “But I’m sure you can see that he did a terrible job…”

“That’s easy,” Anakin said, hopping up and taking it from her. “Does he have any tools?”

“I think so,” she said, and started hunting through cabinets while Anakin sat on the floor, picking the external pieces off the model. Bant sat down beside him a moment later with a few different sized screwdrivers. Anakin grabbed one- it was the wrong size, but close enough- and got to work.

…

The red of the force field dropped before his vision. It surrounded him, penetrated him, bound him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t scream. The world spun and the force field remained and that creature leered at him.

“Ben!”

Satine’s voice, but the force field held his arms and legs fast. He couldn’t go to her.

“Obi-wan!”

Anakin. He struggled, but the force field burnt him when he moved.

“Padawan!”

Qui-gon. He thrashed against the red, but it closed in tighter. He breathed red energy, exhaled terror.

“You can’t save them,” a cool voice said from tattooed lips. “I’ll kill them all. I’ll kill them, Kenobi! I’ll get my revenge. You’ll see. You’ll all see, you and all those thrice-damned Jedi but especially you, Kenobi-”

“Obi-wan?”

The force field flipped off. The world shifted from red to gold. Twin suns beat down on him, burning him, melting his skin. He moaned. The sands spun around him and he held onto the dunes. The grains slipped from his fingers, melted to molten glass. It dripped and burned and he burned with it.

The Council watched him. They circled like sharks, watching him melt. They whispered that it was his fault, that he was attached, that he was going dark.

The red and black monster laughed and sliced Master Yoda in two pieces that tumbled like forgotten garbage, then took his place. “I’ll kill them,” he said, raising the grand master’s skull like he was giving a play. “I’ll kill them all and let you watch. Their blood will run red in the streets of Coruscant and you’ll scream, Kenobi, oh how you’ll scream, so sweet and helpless-”

“Obi-wan, wake up!”

“Pathetic, Ben.” Satine smiled from Mace Windu’s spot. Her armor was smeared red with blood and fire. She reached out, taking the Sith’s hand. “What kind of Jedi are you? Killing and maiming and fighting when you should strive for peace. Denying your affection, ignoring your emotion? You’re living a lie, Ben. Only the Sith live their truest reality.” She laughed, then stood on her toes to kiss the tattooed zabrak. His hand came up to stroke her hair.

Her armor burst into flame, surrounding them without touching them, but it burned him, the fires racing through his blood-

“Wake up, Kenobi!”

He woke at a harsh shake that snapped his neck to the side and groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. It was too bright. The nightmare faded some, but the image of Satine and the Sith made him feel like gagging.

“That was a bad one,” Bant said, stepping back. Anakin hung behind her, blue eyes wide with second-hand emotion.

Obi-wan grit his teeth. He felt shaky and too hot. His heart fluttered. “Did you see…?”

“You were projecting,” Bant said. The Force swam with her apology and accusation. He hadn’t projected a nightmare onto her since they were children. It was an embarrassing setback. He needed to meditate.

He rolled over so he couldn’t see them. “Sorry.” His mouth tasted like iron- he must have bitten his lip, or it was just so dry that it had cracked. Maybe it was just the last of the blood draining from his nose. “What time is it?”

Bant glanced over at the chrono. “Don’t be sorry. You’ve still got an hour or two before Master Che will call you. You should try to eat something.”

He sat up too quickly and black spots exploded in his vision. He breathed through it until it cleared then glanced towards Anakin. “How are you?”

Anakin half hid behind Bant, quiet. His eyes were big. “I tried to pull you out of it,” he said quickly. His fingers twisted in Bant’s tunic. “Sorry.”

That explained the image of sand dunes and twin suns. “I appreciate it, Anakin. Sorry about my shielding.”

Despite the abrupt end to the nap, it had helped. The headache was gone, at least, and it had taken the sick feeling with it. Obi-wan considered the cold tea on the side table for a moment, then shook himself. No, he definitely had to eat something. He was actually hungry now, despite still not knowing how Qui-gon was.

Here and now, Qui-gon would have said. The past is done and the future is beyond your control, but you are here and you are now, Padawan. Do with that what you will. Don’t let your anxiety cloud your judgement.

He got up to heat himself a bowl of soup, and pretended not to see Bant’s sigh of relief. She really worried too much.

“Did you get some, Anakin?” he asked brightly, trying to shake some of Bant’s concern. “Reeft’s cooking is truly a talent. He’s wasted with the Jedi.”

Anakin nodded, quiet. For a second, Obi-wan worried his nightmare had scared the boy away, but then Anakin darted from Bant to his side. “You have so many different types of jelly,” he said, pulling open the fridge and taking one out. “I like this one.” He set it next to the bread almost defiantly, then crossed his arms and glowered up at Obi-wan. His blue eyes burned as bright as his Force presence.

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow, then glanced over at Bant. She did her best not to look smug.

He sighed dramatically, raising his eyes to the ceiling, then spread the muja jam on a slice of the bread and took a bite while the soup heated. Okay, actually, Anakin had a point. The flavors paired nicely together.

“I fixed your ship,” Anakin said, darting away to pick up the old model from the ground. “You had a bunch of the pieces reversed. And you switched the gears in the motor.” He flipped the button on the side and the model flew on a miniature repulsorlift motor. Obi-wan raised an eyebrow. He had thought it broken and forgotten about it. Models weren’t really his thing.

“He had a lot to say about your mechanical skills,” Bant said cheerfully. “Or your lack of.”

Obi-wan swallowed his bite of bread, looking between them. “I think you’re a bad influence on my padawan,” he said mildly, pointing at Bant.

The word padawan hung in the room, making Bant look away and Anakin grin widely. Obi-wan didn’t mind- despite his friend’s misgivings, the word did feel right, even if it hadn’t been formalized yet. Even if it would never be formalized. Because that’s what Anakin was now, right?

He reached out to tousle Anakin’s hair, brushing against the boy’s blinding Force signature. They’d been through a lot together in a short period of time, and wasn’t that how Obi-wan had become Qui-gon’s padawan? Shared experience and a connection in the Force? It felt right. Anakin pushed back at him, warm and bright.

Here and now.  

And then his comlink beeped with a message, an hour early. The bread turned dry in his mouth as he hurried to answer.

Chapter Text

“You’re awake.”

And with that, Qui-gon was awake. The Force was a cacophony of life around him, buoying him up and making him feel seventeen again. He took a deep breath of it, drawing it deep into his lungs, into his belly, into his blood, and then exhaled. It brought life to his muscles and made his heart soar with joy.

Only a moment later he noticed the humidity. The water was thick in the air as the Force itself. Even just lying there, beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. His robes and hair were damp with it. The heat made him lethargic even as the Force made his nerves sing.

He opened his eyes. He lay on a bed of damp moss. Massive, gnarled trees formed an opaque green canopy overhead. Birds of the brightest colors flew through the branches. A butterfly like a jewel fluttered past. But mist hung heavy by the ground, like clouds. It swirled ghostlike with his every movement.

“I am awake,” he agreed, and sat up to study his new companion. “But I don’t think I’m on Naboo anymore.”

“Yeah, no, you’re pretty far from Naboo.” The man leaned against a tree. It was a casual pose, but everything about him screamed warrior. The sharp, almost feline observation in his eyes, the lean lines of his body, the deliberate way he relaxed his muscles. The scar over one eye looked suspiciously like a lightsaber slash. This was a dangerous man.

He also had no presence in the Force. Qui-gon could feel everything else in almost intimate detail- the flitting of birds overhead, the bounce of the amphibians in the water, the smooth cool of the fish and the predatory gleam of something waiting in its massive web about thirty meters away. But this stranger was a ghost. Qui-gon’s eyes saw him, but his heart did not.

Dangerous, he thought.

“Am I dead?” Qui-gon asked as he stood. He did his best to brush off his robes where he’d been lying on the mossy ground, but the damp had soaked through all the layers. They stuck uncomfortably to his skin.

The man chuckled at that. “I dunno, old man. You’ll have to decide that for yourself.”

“Ah.” Qui-gon stripped off his outer robe- whether this was a vision or his spirit was truly somewhere else, the heat and humidity felt real enough. He folded it and hung it neatly over a low-hanging branch (he wasn’t Obi-wan, leaving it haphazardly on the ground behind him then shivering at night and complaining that he’d lost it.)

“Is that all you’re gonna say?” The stranger raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought you’d be a little more pissed off about dying.”

“I will follow the will of the Force.” Qui-gon turned back to him. “And I can only assume that you are part of the Force. A spirit of this place, perhaps?”

The stranger stroked his beardless chin. “From a certain point of view,” he said in an exaggerated proper accent. Then he chuckled at his own joke.

When Qui-gon didn’t laugh, the stranger rolled his eyes. “Come on, the Negotiator? That makes everyone else laugh. Nevermind. Let’s go on your mystic quest.” He turned on his heel and started off into the swamp, hopping from tussock to tussock so his boots wouldn’t get wet. The mist swirled around him, but his hair bounced dry and untouched by the humidity

Qui-gon delayed only long enough to pull his hair back in a loose bun so it wouldn’t be stuck to his neck before he followed. It was a tricky path- even with the Force guiding his feet, the grasses of the tussocks were slick and he put his foot into the water more than once as he chased after the younger man. His boots were only mostly waterproof- if Obi-wan were here, he would have been grumbling at wet socks. But Qui-gon ignored the discomfort.

“Do you have a name, Spirit?” he called as he leapt from a tangle of roots to a boulder to the low hanging branch of a tree.

The spirit had gotten further ahead- he paused before an area of mangrove-type trees. Their massive roots gleamed a crisscrossing, treacherous path over deep black water. Something splashed deeper in- Qui-gon got the sense of something massive and hungry slipping between the roots.

“Yeah,” The spirit said, balancing on the closest root. There wasn’t even a drop of sweat on his angelic face. “But I’m not gonna tell you.”

Qui-gon’s tunic was sticking to his skin as he came closer. “I suppose I expected that,” he admitted. “Could you tell me of my padawan, if you can’t tell me of yourself? He was with me when I…”

“When you got brutally murdered?” The spirit finished cheerfully. His eyes flickered in the gloom, something dark. “That’s up to him. Hey, maybe you’ll see him during one of your Trials. Hopefully not- visions of Obi-wan are horrible.” His eyes flicked away. Qui-gon suddenly smelled something burning, as if on a distant breeze. “He’s always sad.”

“You know him.” Qui-gon hopped closer, balancing on a downed log. It gave him the higher ground over the spirit. “How do you know my padawan?”

“He’s not your padawan anymore,” the spirit said. “He’s a master now. Why are you worried about him, anyways? You should be worried about yourself. You might die.”

“From a certain point of view,” Qui-gon said, mimicking Obi-wan’s accent as well. It made the spirit crack a smile.

“Keep telling yourself that, old man,” the spirit said. “But dead is dead. You better get going. Time is weird in the Force, but we don’t have all day.”

The mangroves hung low beyond the spirit. Mist drifted between their roots. Qui-gon felt an urge in that direction, a tug from the Force. “I suppose this is where we part ways,” he said, turning to the spirit. “Thank you for guiding me this far.”

“We’ll meet again, if you don’t fail miserably,” the spirit said, giving a jaunty little wave. And then, in the space between heartbeats, he was swallowed by the mist.

Though he couldn’t sense the man to begin with, now he truly felt alone. The grove of trees stretched before him, and he got the sense that even if he did an about face and marched in the opposite direction, he would still find himself here. Something swam in the water under the roots. Something large and slick and waiting.

He took a deep breath, then exhaled. With the spent air, he released his worries about Obi-wan and Anakin. He could not help them in the here and now. Then he stepped onto the first mangrove root.

The roots formed a treacherous path. Even with the Force as his guide, Qui-gon didn’t dare to run. Moss grew in places, slick under his boots. The mist gathered thick and heavy. And always, pervasive, was the sense of something waiting.

So he walked. His hair, even pulled back in a bun, was curling with the humidity. His socks were soaked in his boots. What an odd thing to notice, when he was one with the Force. His socks were wet. It seemed cosmically unfair.

“Careful, Jinn,” he muttered aloud to himself as he made a leap from one root to another. “Don’t center on your discomfort.”

“Well, my socks are wet,” he grumbled back at himself.

The mist grew thicker. He couldn’t see the water beneath him anymore. He could barely see the roots themselves. This was treacherous. He was going to slip at some point, and the thing below him would have him.

But that was the future, and in the here and now, he needed to find his next step.

But he could no longer see the roots. The mist curled thick beneath him, obscuring his feet up to his waist. He waved a hand, pushing at it with the Force. It moved- it curled in a gaseous wave. But it didn’t clear. It just rolled in thicker than before.

He was moving blindly now.

“I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” he murmured, closing his eyes. Darkness closed in around him.

And he knew what this test was now. He knew who he would see. His heart pounded at the thought, but he forced his mind to clear. He had to think of the Chosen One. He could be physically blinded by the mist, but he could not allow himself to be blinded by the past.

“Qui-gon.”

Her voice. Unmistakable, even after all this time. He froze, perched on a curving root, eyes still closed.

She was in front of him. He felt the air shift around her, the cool damp of the mist against his hands. But he could not sense her- like the spirit, Tahl was only a ghost. A trick of the Force.

“I pledged myself to you,” she said, and he felt a hand touch his face. “And you to me. Do you remember?”

Her hand was cool and dry, a blessing after the heat and humidity. With her touch, the swamp seemed to fall away. When he opened his eyes, he didn’t see mangroves and deep, dark water. He saw the Temple Archives, stretching on forever beyond Tahl’s lovely form. The glow of the holocrons cast her normally warm skin in a cold light.

“I remember,” he murmured to her.

He tilted his head into her hand, studying her face. Her striped eyes were focused on him, despite her blindness- unless that had fallen away with her death? He didn’t know. He didn’t even know if this was truly her. She felt like nothing in the Force.

“I miss you,” she said, cupping the side of his face. “We didn’t have enough time together.”

“Does anybody?” Qui-gon asked. His voice sounded rough to his own ears.

“I suppose not,” Tahl replied, sighing. But there was hope in her eyes when she added, “but we could have an eternity now.”

Qui-gon swallowed hard, then reached up and pulled her hand from his face. “No,” he said softly. “The Chosen One needs me.”

“Let Obi-wan train him.” She turned her hand in his, linking their fingers together. “You’ve done enough, Qui-gon. Let yourself rest.”

He studied her face, looking for any sign of a trick. There was none- in her face, or in the Force. She just waited, quiet.

“It is you,” he said, reaching out to take her other hand. “This isn’t a trial. This is a choice. If I choose to be with you, I will die.”

“Yes.” She drew their hands up between them and pressed a light kiss to his fingers. Her lips were soft and cool with death. “But it is not so bad. It’s peaceful. There’s no Code telling us we can’t be together. We would just be. Together. But yes. The price is your life.”

He took a deep breath, but it shuddered through him. How easy it would be? He would draw her closer and they would fall through the Force together.

Qui-gon wanted that. He hadn’t realized how much he needed her until she was there in front of him again. His breath hitched and he leaned his head forward- she was the same height as him, and he rested his forehead against her chest. “I want to be with you,” he said, breathing her in. “I miss you.”

“I know,” she said softly, but she didn’t add anything else. The damn woman was too good- this would not be her manipulating him. She knew he couldn’t be manipulated like that. She simply told him the truth and let him make his own decision.

“I promised the Chosen One that I would train him,” he said.

Tahl let go of one of his hands so she could brush her fingers through his hair. It was still lank with the humidity, but she didn’t seem to mind. “You and your pathetic lifeforms,” she said fondly. “He is the Here and Now, isn’t he?”

“He is.” Qui-gon straightened up, memorizing her face. He knew what he had to do. But the very thought of it made him feel sick, like he was losing her all over again.

“And I am the past.” She brushed a piece of hair behind his ear. “I understand. I will be waiting for you.”

“Tahl,” he choked out, but the mist was already choking in around her. She dropped her hands, took a step back from him. It felt like she dragged a piece of his heart with her. Despite himself, he chased after her, leaping forward-

-only for his ankle to turn on a mangrove root. He slipped in the mist, falling. His chin cracked painfully on a root and then he plunged into blood-warm waters that closed over his head with the finality of the tomb.

His chest ached, and he couldn’t tell if it was from lack of air or the freshly torn wound of grief. But he kicked forward anyways, forcing himself to think of Anakin. He was in open water now- it should have been shallow and clogged by roots and mud, except he couldn’t find the bottom.

But he wasn’t alone. Something swam by- he felt the current against his face. He needed air, and his mouth tasted like blood. If he could taste it, could this thing?

He swam, and he sensed the creature with him. It circled again- the water was too dark for him to see even a shadow. His chest spasmed for air, but he kept his mouth stubbornly closed, reaching into the Force for energy. He could last longer than a normal person without air. The Force was his ally.

The creature bumped him, and bubbles exploded from his mouth. He thrust out with his hand, but it whipped away.

Bubbles went up- he followed them, kicking upwards, biting his lips to keep them closed. The fish followed him- it bumped his leg again, almost playfully.

His head broke the surface- he gasped air so humid that it was almost like swallowing more water.

Teeth sank into his leg and dragged him under.

Light flooded the water- he saw his own blood swirling through the murky water. It wasn’t a fish- it wasn’t even teeth. It was claws- a monster with eyes of Dark Side fires. But even twisted and dead and rotting away, he would recognize that face.

“Xanatos,” he whispered, but the name was blown away by the bubbles.

The young man Qui-gon had regarded as a son dragged him down. “You did this to me,” he snarled, and despite the water, the words were clear. “You let it take me! You let me become this!”

Qui-gon kicked out, hitting his apprentice in the mouth, then launched himself upwards. The Force was with him and his head broke the surface. There was a dry patch of land nearby- he kicked out for it, even as Xanatos surfaced behind him.

“You won’t leave me!” Out of the water, his voice was broken from a rotted throat. “Don’t leave me!”

Qui-gon reached the land and hauled himself up. Bloody water streamed down his leg, staining his pants, but the wounds weren’t deep. He turned to face his old apprentice-

-and a thrown saber, crackling red, took off Xanatos’ head.

“There’s always a bigger fish,” the scarred spirit said cheerfully, coming up beside Qui-gon. He held up his hand, and the saber returned. “That’s one of your little lines of wisdom, isn’t it?”

Xanatos floated, rotted and bloated, like some long dead carcass.

“Gross,” said the spirit, grimacing. “Dark Side does nasty things to you. Don’t Fall, if you can help it.” He started walking- the patch of land that Qui-gon had found was a tiny outcrop of a larger island. Trees and vines twisted up, but there was a slim path through the center.

“You used a red lightsaber,” Qui-gon said slowly, standing in place. He dripped a puddle on the ground.

The spirit paused and turned back. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s my lightsaber.”

Again, that scent of something burning. But this time there was a flicker in the spirit as well- something tall and dark. It was gone too quickly for Qui-gon to register what he had seen.

“Are you coming or not?” The spirit turned and started walking. The heat still had no effect on him, though by rights he should have been soaked in sweat under his dark robes.

Qui-gon took a breath and hurried onwards, falling into step just behind the spirit. “Are you a Sith?”

The spirit was quiet for a moment, still hurrying along the path. The vines draped close- Qui-gon had to duck under some of them. The ground was treacherous. Rocks and roots threatened to turn unsuspecting ankles.

“I was,” the spirit said. “In one life.”

“What do you mean by that?” Qui-gon ducked a low hanging branch. The mist cleared up as the land became drier, but the light was choked out by the thick canopy. Birds called out up in the branches in near-human cackles and screeches.

“The Force is infinite,” the spirit said, stopping abruptly. “There is the Here and Now, and there is the Everytime and Everywhere.” He turned. His eyes were red and yellow.

The shock of the change made Qui-gon take a step back. His mind flashed back to those Dark Sider eyes in a tattooed face, but he brushed it off. This man was someone new- someone more dangerous.

More dangerous than somebody who killed you? he asked himself.

Yes, he answered himself.

“Your next Trial is up here,” the spirit said, gesturing forward towards the next grove of trees. Their trunks pressed in together, creating the illusion of a cave.

“The last one was the past,” Qui-gon said, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose this one will be the present?”

The spirit shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re your Trials, not mine.”

Qui-gon accepted that answer and stepped forward into the grove. When he glanced back, the spirit flickered. This time, the flicker was long enough for Qui-gon to catch the image of a dark mask, the flashing lights of something mechanical. Then the spirit was gone.

Qui-gon stepped into the trees and came to a campfire. Obi-wan sprawled beside it, using his pack as a headrest. His hair hadn’t been cut in months and he wore civilian’s clothes. If not for his braid, nobody would have thought him a Jedi. Satine lay in his lap, her head on his chest, twirling his braid around her finger. Neither youth noticed Qui-gon’s approach.

“What if the Jedi could get married?” Satine asked as Qui-gon approached. She gave Obi-wan’s braid a little tug. “What would you do then?”

“Don’t ask me that.” Obi-wan squeezed her hand where they rested on chest. “You know what I would say.”

“But I want to hear you say it.” She twisted her head to smile at him. “It’s only a dream, I promise you. There is nothing between us besides smoke and mirrors.”

Qui-gon sat back against a rock. He was sure he wasn’t meant to be here- had this conversation truly happened, or was it a figment of the Force? Either way, he didn’t want to hear it.

“Huh.” Obi-wan sat up a little straighter- Satine made an irritated noise when she had to readjust herself. “In that case, I would have to get down on one knee and ask Sy Snootles-”

“Ben!” Satine smacked his arm. “That new outer rim singer? Really? Ugh, I hate her.”

Qui-gon knew the one. As pop went, it was terrible and so pervasive that not even war-torn Mandalore could be immune.

But Obi-wan was on a role. “We would be perfect together, I think,” he said, squeezing Satine’s hand tighter. “Imagine what her lips could do- ow!”

Satine had smacked him again, harder this time. “I was trying to be romantic, Obi-wan Kenobi,” she snapped. “And you had to ruin it. It’s stuck in my head now.” She got up, shaking her head in disgust, and reached for another log to add to the fire.

“Satine.” Obi-wan pouted where he lay against his pack. One arm rested behind his head. Sprawled out like that, without the layers of robes and cloaks, he had the streamlined, well-toned body of a dancer. His gaze was hungry when he looked at Satine- at all of her, not just her face.

Open lust on Obi-wan- careful, polite Obi-wan- seemed so out of character it was bizarre. Qui-gon looked upwards. He didn’t want to see his padawan’s private moments.

Satine was not interested in looking away. She drew closer. “You don’t have a romantic bone in your body,” she complained, kneeling beside him.

“Sorry about that,” Obi-wan said, reaching over with one arm to pull her closer. “I prefer practical things. Like this.” He tugged her down (not a hard task when she wanted him as much as he wanted her) and their lips met. One of her hands wandered up his shirt, and Qui-gon caught a glimpse of his student’s hip bone before he stood abruptly and walked away.

“This is not a Trial,” he said aloud to the Force. “This is just torture.”

“Is it?” Obi-wan appeared before him, in a Jedi’s robes and haircut once again. “For you, maybe. But not for me.”

“I can see that,” Qui-gon muttered, rolling his eyes.

Obi-wan crossed his arms. “Not in that way. She wants me, Master.”

Ah, Obi-wan of the sad visions. There it was- the twelve year old with the big, pleading eyes. Sent off to be a farmer when he knew in his heart he was meant to be a knight, and yet still trying to help the people he’d been sent to work with.

“I want you, Padawan,” Qui-gon said. He knew Obi-wan had a streak of insecurity, but an entire vision about it seemed extreme.

Obi-wan interrupted him with a harsh laugh (and that was certainly the vision, because the real Obi-wan never sounded so callous). “You don’t want me. You never wanted me. You and I both know that Master Yoda orchestrated my apprenticeship.”

Qui-gon sighed, glancing around. But there was no convenient red saber to end the trial this time. There was just the Mandalorian grove and Obi-wan with wide, hurt eyes.

“You know that isn’t true,” Qui-gon said, sighing. “You’re fine, Obi-wan. You’re a highly competent Jedi-”

“I’m competent?” Obi-wan grinned, wide and shattered. “Well, that’s something, at least. You can trust me with the Chosen One when you’re dying because I’m competent. Sorry, Anakin.” He threw his hands in the air. “You may as well be learning from a farmer.”

“Farming is a very necessary skill-”

“But not for me,” Obi-wan snarled. “But that’s all I am. That’s all I was ever meant to be. You all know it. Every master who told me I was unfit for knighthood, every teacher who raised an eyebrow when I walked back into their classroom, every classmate who asked which master pitied me enough to take me back-”

“Obi-wan.” Qui-gon held up his hands to stop his rant. It couldn’t be Obi-wan. Obi-wan was alive. But it looked like him, and he was running away with his own thoughts in a very Obi-wan sort of way.

Though this was the first time it was so vehement.

But he still quieted at Qui-gon’s words. Tears sparkled in his eyes, but didn’t fall. He waited.

Sad Obi-wan visions, Qui-gon thought. What had happened to his padawan? What would happen to his padawan?

“The spirit here,” he said softly. “Who is he to you?”

Confusion flickered across the vision’s face. “I hardly think that matters.”

“It does, Padawan.” Qui-gon stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Who is he? What did he do to you?”

Obi-wan crossed his arms tighter, bordering on hugging himself.

“Padawan. Obi-wan. Look at me.” Qui-gon reached out. They didn’t often touch each other- he didn’t hug Obi-wan like he had hugged Xanatos. He didn’t want to coddle the boy, though now he wondered if maybe Obi-wan had needed a bit more affection. He tilted the vision’s chin up. Obi-wan felt solid, but was a void in the Force.

“You’re upset,” Qui-gon said. “You miss Satine. But you gave her up to be a Jedi. You were fine with the decision. We meditated over it, remember?”

“It isn’t about Satine,” he said. “It was never about Satine.”

Qui-gon realized, with a small shock, that he hadn’t heard Obi-wan speak her name since the mission ended. This was the first time, and it was in a vision.

“This is about… everything.” Obi-wan’s eyes were pleading, but he leaned into Qui-gon’s hand like a lothcat. “Everything, Master. She wanted me. Nobody has ever wanted me.”

“I want you, Padawan.” Qui-gon hesitated, but this was only a vision. He pulled the boy in and wrapped his arms stiffly around him. Obi-wan melted, boneless. “We have not had the easiest time, but I do want you.”

“But you want the Chosen One more,” Obi-wan said softly. “Of course you do- he’s brilliant. He’s like a beacon. And I’m-”

“You’re you, Padawan.” Qui-gon shook his head, confused. “You know that. You’re a talented Jedi and a good man, and I have no doubt that-”

“You’re flat-lining,” the spirit said helpfully, sitting on a tree branch. His glove was off, and he was adjusting something in a mechanical hand. “I told you, the Obi-wan visions are rough, aren’t they? You might want to hurry it up.”

Qui-gon tightened his grip on Obi-wan, shifting his glare upwards. “What did you do to him?”

“Me?” The spirit shrugged. “I killed him.”

Qui-gon grit his teeth, ready to throw himself forward and attack the spirit of the Sith. The spirit smiled and pulled his glove back over his mechanical hand, then rested it on his lightsaber- the one that would ignite red.

“Don’t hurt him, Master,” Obi-wan said in a tiny voice.

The spirit’s smile turned to a leer. “Attachments,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Even now. Will they cloud your mind too, old man? Or will you be trapped here forever, with the resentful ghost of poor old Ben Kenobi?”

Qui-gon closed his eyes. Of course. Attachments. He could not remain. His padawan leaned into him, needing him, and he could not comfort the boy. This was not his padawan- this was some twist of the Force and his own memory.

This was the shade of Obi-wan’s worst aspects- his self-doubt and insecurity and broken attachments all rolled into one. There was none of the near-cocky confidence of a budding master negotiator. There was no twitch of his lips at his own dry humor. There was no clever quips nor near flirtatious politeness nor confident fighter.

He was a shade.

Qui-gon took a breath and pushed the boy away.

“I don’t want you,” he said, stepping away when Obi-wan tried to lean into him again. “My padawan is alive in the here and now, and he needs me.”

Obi-wan stared at him. Then his lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl. “You would abandon me?”

“You are ready to be knighted,” Qui-gon said, holding his hands up in an attempt to placate. “There is nothing more I can teach you. The Chosen One needs me now-”

Obi-wan threw himself forward with a cry of rage and ignited his saber at the same time, swinging it down. Qui-gon stepped out of the way.

“I am not abandoning you,” he said, and ducked another wild swing. “I will always be there for you, but you are an adult.”

“But you would toss me aside for Anakin,” Obi-wan snarled. His hands were white-knuckle tight around his saber. The blue flickered and sparked like Obi-wan’s anger destabilized the blade.

“I am not tossing you aside,” Qui-gon said. He had to take a deep breath to keep his voice serene. But now, seeing the boy enraged, feeling the tug in his own heart, he knew the truth. “I could never toss you aside. I had thought Xanatos was like my son. But he never saw me as a father in turn. But you, Padawan…”

He’d never let himself think it before. He’d never let himself feel it. But the feeling was there- it had been there since Obi-wan had first risked death by the Hutts on that mining ship so many years ago, though he had denied at the time. His mind had been clouded by his toxic attachment to Xanatos.

But what he felt for Obi-wan was not attachment. He had no claim on the boy, as he’d had on Xanatos. He loved him, selflessly, so much that to even see this broken ghost of him made his heart ache. But Obi-wan was his own man, and this shade was not for Qui-gon to fix. “You’re like my son, Obi-wan. The Chosen One needs a teacher, but that will not stop me from loving you.”

Obi-wan froze. His saber dropped from his hand and switched off. The handle rolled away on the ground. It clinked against a knot of tree root.

“Goodbye, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon said, bowing to the ghost. “I will see you in the land of the living.”

And he walked on, heart pounding harder than it should have.

“Spirit!” he bellowed, as soon as the Mandalorian trees shifted back into nameless swamp. “Give me your next test!”

Silence. Something screeched in the trees, and a vine shook beside him. Qui-gon frowned up at it- there was so much life here that it felt cloying in his senses. Shadowed. As he walked, the mist began to pool around his legs again. The ground became soupy under his boots. Mud squelched. Small reptiles scurried away and plopped into their puddles.

The air became heavy. The humidity soaked into his lungs, choking him, and the Force dragged him backwards.

His boot slipped- he tried to catch himself but the vine he grabbed was covered in thorns. It cut his hands and his feet slipped in the mud and he found himself on his knees. The new cuts on his hands stung.

“Uncivilized,” he muttered, and felt a pang for his apprentice.

He tried to push himself up, but gravity seemed to increase, like a generator on a ship had malfunctioned. The Force pressed down around him, shadowy. He closed his eyes, trying to sense his way through it, but the darkness was too strong.

“And now you have fallen, into the mud and the blood. Pathetic, old man.” The darkness convalesced into a single form, a point on his back. A boot, Qui-gon realized. Pressing into him, holding him down.

He turned his head, breathing through the pressure on his lungs. “You,” he said to the spirit, but gone was the angelic face and easy smiles. Now, a monster remained, encased in black armor. The sound of a respirator echoed through the gloom.

“Me,” Agreed the spirit. “I am your failing, Qui-gon Jinn. I am the future.”

“So I was correct in my presumption,” Qui-gon said to the mud. “Past, present, and future. Past love, present student, and future failure.” He relaxed, closing his eyes, gathering the Force around him. Then he twisted, fast and hard, hooking an arm around the cyborg-spirit’s knee.

He leapt to his feet and the spirit stumbled back, saber already in his hand.

Qui-gon drew his as well. It glowed green, seeming to burn the darkness around it. “If I defeat you, I return to my body,” he said.

“Making bets?” The spirit ignited his saber as well. The red reflected off his mask. “You never could resist a game of chance, could you?”

Qui-gon took a step to the side. He wondered if he could circle around and run, but he suspected he actually had to defeat the spirit. “I find with the Force on my side, chance is often in my favor,” he admitted. But he watched the way the spirit moved- there was a bit of Obi-wan there, he realized, in the angle of his saber. Coincidence, maybe, but-

“You are Anakin Skywalker,” Qui-gon said. “Obi-wan trained you, and you Fell.”

The spirit snarled and leapt forward, but Qui-gon spun out of the way, then leapt upwards. He landed on a branch- his saber was slick in his cut hands, but he knew it wouldn’t betray him.

“You’re the future,” Qui-gon said. “My failure. What happened to you, young one?”

Anakin threw his saber- end over end, it slashed through Qui-gon’s branch. They both went tumbling down. Qui-gon landed neat as a lothcat, and ducked the red saber’s return. In one motion, Anakin grabbed it from the air and slashed it downwards.

Qui-gon caught it on his own blade in a shower of sparks. 

“Anakin,” Qui-gon said. “Talk to me. I am here to teach you.”

“You were never there,” Anakin growled. His voice was deep and modulated through the mask, but Qui-gon could still hear the emotion. “You freed me, and then you died. I thought nobody could kill a Jedi.”

“Surely Obi-wan-”

“Obi-wan Kenobi was a fool,” Anakin snarled, and swung the saber down, again and again, and Qui-gon parried. “He took my wife.” Downward slash. “He took my children.” Across the middle. “He took my limbs.” A kick towards Qui-gon’s knee. “He took my lungs.” He punched out with the handle.

The last punch took Qui-gon’s jaw- he’d been expecting the blade, not the hilt. He stumbled back with the teeth-rattling punch and spat blood.

“Then let me return,” Qui-gon said through the blood. It dripped into his beard. “Let me fix it, Anakin.”

“You cannot fix it,” Anakin said, stalking forward. He twirled his blade in lazy circles. “The Sith have returned. You are all damned- whether you die now or later, you will die.”

Qui-gon could see his own reflection in the mask. Bloody teeth, sweat dripping down his face. “We all die someday,” he agreed. “But I would prefer to die later. Let me help you, Anakin.”

“That is not my name.” He twirled his saber again- it was so close to Qui-gon’s arm that he felt the heat. The respirator hissed as it filled broken lungs with air. “I am Darth Vader.”

“Part of you, perhaps,” Qui-gon said. Then he disengaged his saber and clipped it back to his belt. “But another part of you is still Anakin Skywalker. And I will not leave you, Anakin. You are not lost.”

Vader was perfectly still. Even the birds were silent- only the sound of the respirator broke the silence.

Qui-gon reached out and touched the side of his mask. “I’m sorry, my boy,” he said. It was cold and hard under his fingers. “Whatever this twisted future is, let me help.”

A few drops of water fell from the sky. They hissed where they landed on Anakin’s saber.

“All futures are possible,” Qui-gon said. “This one as well as any others. It is as I tell Obi-wan- we must focus on the here and now. You are not real, Anakin. You are a possibility. But in the here and now, you must be trained. Let me go, my boy. Let me help you.”

Under his hand, the spirit flickered. The mask vanished, and the young man returned. His eyes burned red and yellow, but gleamed with tears. “Help me,” he whispered.

“I will,” Qui-gon promised. “But you have to let me go back.”

Anakin’s face twisted, like he was about to scream or cry. But he stepped back from Qui-gon and hung his head. “You’re still damned,” he said to the ground. “The Master is too strong. You’ll never win.”

And then, for the last time he vanished. And the swamp faded around him, until Qui-gon was alone in the dark.

He floated in the void. There was not even a star to break the darkness. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. The Force felt far away, and Qui-gon was alone.

So this is death, he thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have journeyed through the swamp. He should have stayed with that Dark Side version of Anakin and the resentful facsimile of Obi-wan and Tahl’s lonely ghost.

A light appeared in the distance, a tiny fleck of gold.

Qui-gon strained for it with the inevitability of a moth to a light. But he could not move without a body, and the void pressed in around him, threatening to consume him.

The light grew bigger. Qui-gon got the sense that it was coming for him at great speed, a comet burning through deep space. It grew larger and larger and then took form-

“Master,” said Obi-wan. “It’s time for you to wake up.”

Qui-gon wanted to weep. He could sense his padawan, the boy’s light burning through the void.

“Come with me, Master.” Obi-wan reached out, took Qui-gon’s hands. Qui-gon could only follow- he couldn’t speak or weep or draw the boy up in his arms. But he could feel Obi-wan. He wasn’t the void of the Force-vision pretending to be him.

“You need to wake up.” Obi-wan tugged him upwards. “Please, Master. You need to fight. You need to wake up. Anakin needs you. I need you.”

The void lightened around him. The black faded to gray. Qui-gon could move again- he fought to follow Obi-wan. The real Obi-wan, his padawan. He needed to tell him-

He had learned-

His memory drifted. The lighter the void turned the more the images scattered.

A man with a scar on his eye. Obi-wan’s tears. Tahl.

Tahl.

He had to remember Tahl.

The gray brightened.

Tahl was waiting for him. He could still go back to her- he tugged back towards her-

“Master!” Obi-wan pulled him harder. His grip was iron- Qui-gon couldn’t have sank even if he tried. “You will wake up,” he said, and there was the conviction of the Force behind the words- the boy had always been good at mind tricks. Qui-gon could not fight.

He went limp in Obi-wan’s Force-grip and let the boy pull him up into the land of the living. He felt his body now- heavy. Each pulse sent pain singing through his nerves.

He groaned.

“Master!” Obi-wan’s real voice now, then hands on him. “Master- breathe. You have to breathe-“

“Very good, Kenobi- stand back now. We’ll take it from here.”

Vokara Che. Obi-wan’s hands vanished and Vokara’s hands replaced them. The Force sang through him- it bounced through the chi lines of his body. Head, heart, hands, belly- and with each jolt the Force became stronger.

He was in pain. His heart was beating and everything hurt.

He groaned again- he wanted to scream but he didn’t have the strength.

“Master?” Obi-wan’s voice, close by, questioning. “Is he-“

“He’s awake. Give us room, or you’re out.”

A frantic scrambling, and the Force ebbing and flowing like a great tide through Qui-gon’s body.

And the pain grew and ebbed as well, intensity rising with each rise until it threatened to consume him.

“Alright Jinn, I hear you. You’re alive. Let go- we’ve got you.”

And cold flooded through his system, followed by the dark of sleep.

Chapter Text

Qui-gon woke with a jerk like a crashing starship. Pain blossomed through his center, both pulsing and stabbing. He grit his teeth, breathing through it, and reached out with the Force.

He was in the Jedi Temple. That was immediately obvious- the Halls of Healing, judging by the smell of antiseptic and the oxygen tube hooked to his nose. But how had he gotten there-

Obi-wan. He had been on mission with Obi-wan-

As soon as he realized that, the rest of the memories came flooding back. A young queen, the Chosen One, the tattooed Sith. A duel.

He had lost the duel.

He took a slow breath, trying to recall the details. He’d been hit in the chin- it startled him, and he’d let down his guard for a split second- and that was a second too long. His world flickered between darkness and sight after that, cloudy. He had dreamed- the memory was vague, there if he meditated, but out of reach for the moment. It was like trying to remember a drunken night from his youth.

As Qui-gon became more aware, the pain didn’t decrease, but rather took form. He hurt where he had been cut through by the saber- that much made sense. He could classify that pain in his head and set it aside. The rest of his injuries were mild- bruises that any Jedi on active field duty had. They were easily ignored.

His self-appraisal took less than a minute. Then he opened his eyes and cast out with his senses-

Obi-wan.

The boy was draped over a visitor chair, dead to the world. Qui-gon prodded him in the Force gently, careful not to wake him- he was exhausted, signature muted, but unharmed.

And not Dark.

Qui-gon didn’t even realize that he’d been looking for the Darkness until he didn’t feel it, and then he could have collapsed with relief, if he wasn’t already bedbound. Obi-wan had faced the Sith and won, and there was no stain on his soul. He had not touched the Dark Side to win the battle. He had won by his own talent and goodness and-

And he was not Xanatos.

The Force shifted as Obi-wan became aware, and a second later he was at Qui-gon’s side, eyes wide. “You’re awake. Force, Master, you’re finally awake- Are you okay? Are you in pain? Master Che said that she gave you something for it-”

“Peace, Obi-wan.” Qui-gon waved him off, grimacing at a sense in the Force like he was being shoved- a far cry from his padawan’s normal subtleties. His voice sounded like a lower level junkie. “Water?”

Obi-wan bit his lip too hard- Qui-gon saw the drop of blood appear before he spun off towards the end of the bed. “No water- you’re on nothing by mouth, I’m sorry. There’s ice chips… here.” He swept up an insulated cup and returned. “Sorry if they’re melted…”

Qui-gon refused to be fed ice chips by his apprentice. He waved Obi-wan off and freed his arm from under the blanket- that tiny task alone took too much effort. It tugged at the wound in his belly- he tried not to wince too much. But the cold of the ice did wonders for his throat, even if it didn’t much quench his thirst.

“What of the boy?” he asked when his throat felt less ragged.

Obi-wan pulled his chair closer to the side of the bed. “Anakin’s good,” he said. He licked his lips like his own mouth was dry and winced when he caught the drop of blood on his tongue. “Um- he’s with Bant and Reeft. I talked to them a bit ago. Bant said she’d put Anakin to bed for me.”

“Good.” Qui-gon nodded, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment. He sensed Obi-wan’s sudden attention and forced them open. “You killed the Sith,” he said. “I remembered that correctly?”

“Yes, I-” Obi-wan’s voice cracked. His breath caught. “I did,” he said again, a second later.

Qui-gon glanced over, moving only his head. His whole body felt too heavy. Obi-wan was crying, or rather, trying desperately not to cry. His eyes were bright with unshed tears and he was fingering the hem of his cloak, all but rending the fabric.

Qui-gon didn’t quite know what to say. His mind felt too slow. He reached out and touched Obi-wan’s arm instead.   

Obi-wan leaned into the touch like a lothcat and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice so muffled that it was near inaudible. “I’m sorry, I thought you were dy- dy-” He gave up explaining, shoulders shaking.

“Padawan,” Qui-gon murmured, rubbing his arm lightly. It wasn’t often that he touched Obi-wan. It was usually reserved for times of great stress. “I’m alive. I promise.”

Obi-wan’s presence in the Force shoved against Qui-gon’s almost desperately, even as he grabbed Qui-gon’s hand to squeeze it. It wasn’t subtle or comfortable, but Qui-gon let the boy have his moment. He would be okay- Obi-wan always was-

You would abandon me?

The dream-memory, faded with wakefulness, hit him like a runaway podracer. He needed to meditate on it, sooner rather than later while the memories were still there. Something to do with Obi-wan. Obi-wan and Satine…

No, he really didn’t want to open that can of worms right now.

“Are you alright, Padawan?” he asked when Obi-wan’s breath stopped hitching.

Obi-wan rubbed furiously at his eyes. The dark brown of his cloak became even darker with the wet streaks. “I’m sorry, Master, I…”

“Don’t apologize, Obi-wan.” Qui-gon didn’t have the energy for it. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Truly, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d done everything right- he’d killed a Sith Lord before he’d even been knighted. Qui-gon, a master himself, had been defeated, but a padawan had triumphed.

“I told Anakin I would train him,” Obi-wan added hastily. “I’m sorry- if you feel up to it, of course I’ll rescind that, but I really don’t mind. He has great potential, and I won’t send him back to Tatooine. I already had the slave chip removed… Kriff, Master, they have an embedded chip now, instead of a collar…”

Qui-gon let his eyes drift shut again, but squeezed Obi-wan’s hand to let the boy know he was still listening. He tried to ignore the image of a twelve-year-old with a metal collar, giving him a wry smile as he offered to blow himself up. That boy never should have ended up a slave- he’d been poking around when Qui-gon expressly told him not to. And if he hadn’t poked around, then he wouldn’t have found the bombs that would kill millions.

“Sorry, my padawan,” he murmured. “Forgot that was you once.”

He felt Obi-wan’s hand tense. “No, Master, you don’t have to-”

“I do, though.” Qui-gon wrenched his eyes open. “I nearly died without… you’re a good Jedi, Obi-wan. You’re a good man.”

Obi-wan tried to respond. His lips formed the word master without actually saying it, and his eyes flicked away. His eyelashes were wet, clumped together. His emotional state in the Force wasn’t something specific so much as overwhelmed, and Qui-gon was too tired and too drugged to try to soothe the intensity of it.

“Go home, Obi-wan.” Qui-gon squeezed his padawan’s hand again. “I’ll be fine- Master Che has a hundred alerts on me, I’m sure.

“Master, I’m staying-”

“The Chosen One needs you.” Qui-gon pulled his hand back. “I promise you, I’m alright. But your exhaustion is making me tired.”

“Sorry,” Obi-wan muttered again- the damn boy needed to stop apologizing. Did he think he had failed? Qui-gon let his eyes close again. Darkness flickered around his consciousness. Obi-wan probably did think he’d failed, but it wasn’t his fault. He was simply more skilled than Qui-gon. He had been victorious.

Force, Qui-gon was proud of that boy. Maybe some of Obi-wan’s skills came from Qui-gon, but his heart was his own. Whatever family had given that boy up for the Jedi had done the galaxy a service that could never be repaid.

But when he opened his eyes again, Obi-wan was gone. Qui-gon would have to remember to tell him later.

Darkness closed in again, and he let the drugged sleep take him.

…

Anakin couldn’t sleep. He pretended to sleep so Obi-wan’s friends would stop worrying about him, but there was no way he actually could right now. Obi-wan had been called back to the Jedi healers, and now it was the middle of the night and he wasn’t back. Bant and Reeft were worried- they were playing cards at the kitchen table, but neither one was really focused on the game. They were both scared for Obi-wan, and their fear drifted through the apartment like a dark fog.

Anakin was scared too. He wasn’t so stupid as to hope Qui-gon would live. Qui-gon would live or die whether Anakin hoped or not. But he really did want the older Jedi to live- he liked Qui-gon. Qui-gon was brave and strong and wasn’t afraid of the sand or the slavers or even the tattooed monster that had stalked them back to the ship.

He tugged Obi-wan’s blankets tighter around him, but the chill of space had seemed to take root in his bones. He shivered, staring at the chrono on the nightstand. The red lit numbers claimed it was late at night, but he felt like it was morning. Mom would be opening up Watto’s junk shop right now.

Anakin sat straight up, wide-eyed. He’d forgotten to tell her that the pit droid needed to be oiled- he was old, and the sand was crusting up his joints. If he didn’t get oiled every day then he would need all his parts replaced and Watto would be so pissed-

He flopped back down and drew the blankets up over his face, nearly trembling with impotent energy. There was no way for him to get the message home. Mom would have to remember on her own.

Obi-wan.

He sat up again, sensing the Jedi’s return. He was getting closer, his energy weary but…

Anakin closed his eyes, trying to focus. It was hard to get a sense of Obi-wan’s mood beyond his shielding, but he was tired and there were cracks here and there. There was no grief- there was only relief, buoying Anakin higher as soon as he felt it.

He jumped out of the bed and rushed to the front door, heedless of Bant and Reeft’s noises of surprise. “Obi-wan’s coming back,” he said, planting himself in front of the door.

They exchanged a look between them. “I don’t sense-” Reeft started, but then the front door opened.

Obi-wan nearly tripped over Anakin when he stepped inside, and grabbed his shoulder to catch his balance. Anakin flinched at the quick movement, then pressed himself to Obi-wan’s side before the Jedi could notice. “Is Qui-gon okay?”

Obi-wan dropped his arm around Anakin’s shoulders and nodded. “Yes,” he said a moment later, finding his voice. “I mean not yet. Master Che needs to run more tests, and they have to keep him for a while yet, but he’s…” He glanced at his friends, then away. “He’s going to-” His voice broke, and he looked up at the ceiling, but he was smiling. “He’s going to live.”

“Oh thank the Force,” Bant breathed, covering her face with her hands.

Reeft jumped up and clapped a hand around Obi-wan’s shoulder. “We never doubted it,” he said.

Obi-wan angled his body away from his friends. Only Anakin could see he was crying again, though he did his best to try to hide it. But this close to him, with actual contact, Anakin could sense that that there was no sadness in the tears- only exhaustion and relief. He held Anakin tightly, and there was no way Anakin would ever try to escape his hug.

“Thank you both for everything,” Obi-wan said, once he’d taken a deep breath. “Dex’s is on me next time.”

“You don’t have to pay us, Obi,” Bant said, shaking her head.

Reeft smacked her arm. “I am not saying no to free food,” he said, gathering his things. “You good now?”

“I’m good,” Obi-wan said, nodding. He’d quickly regained control, and dropped his arm from Anakin’s shoulders.

After a few more exchanged words, Obi-wan’s friends were gone, leaving the two of them alone. Obi-wan stood for a moment, studying Anakin. There was no expression on his face.

“Qui-gon’s really gonna be okay?” Anakin asked. His borrowed cloak dragged across the floor. “Is he gonna teach me now? Or you? Not that I care- I like you both, but I’m just wondering-”

Obi-wan shook himself, then moved to the kitchen. There was still tea on the stove- it was cold though, and Obi-wan had to heat it for himself. “At this point,” he said slowly, “I think I will be teaching you. He will recover- Master Che isn’t completely certain yet, but I have a good feeling about it. But it will be a difficult road.”

He bit his lip, then took a breath. “I’m sorry. I know you expected Master Qui-gon to teach you, Anakin. But I don’t believe it would be fair to either of you- you need someone who can focus completely on teaching you, and he will need to focus on healing. Maybe when he’s completely better that will change-”

“It doesn’t have to.” Anakin darted across the kitchen to grab Obi-wan’s mug from earlier and dump the old tea. “I already said, I like you. I don’t mind if you teach me.”

Obi-wan tilted his head, then accepted the mug, curling his fingers around it before he went to pour himself more tea.

“Alright,” he said, then knelt down so they were on eye level. “Do you trust me?”

Anakin nodded. The steam rose from the mug between them.

“I trust you too,” Obi-wan said.

The words felt heavier than their face value. Anakin wondered what history lay beneath him, but he was too scared to ask.

Obi-wan lay a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “It will be a while before it’s made official,” he said. “But I will be your mas- your teacher.” He winced at his own wording, but Anakin didn’t mind. It was a different sort of master.

Anakin didn’t know what to say back. He felt like he was at the edge of some cliff, and if he jumped everything would change. He could still go back to Tatooine, he thought. Right now, he could tell Obi-wan that he’d changed his mind. Obi-wan would take him back and his trip to Naboo and to Coruscant would fade like a distant dream.

Obi-wan’s eyes were bright in the low light of the kitchen. He waited for Anakin to confirm their partnership. Obi-wan wouldn’t rush him, Anakin knew. They could stay like this until morning, Obi-wan’s tea growing cold between them.

“Thanks, Master,” Anakin said, then mimicked everybody he’d seen and bowed to Obi-wan.

He felt the shift in the Force around them. He felt Obi-wan’s feelings suddenly- all relief and happiness and it’s going to be okay. And he knew, instinctively, that Obi-wan could feel him in turn.

Obi-wan reached out and squeezed Anakin’s shoulder, then stood up and took a sip of his tea. “Thank you, Anakin. Now, off to bed with you. It’s late.”

…

Obi-wan woke up to his comm buzzing against his face. He grunted at it, but his arm wouldn’t move to grab it. In fact, he couldn’t even feel his arm.

He opened his eyes to realize the reason his arm had turned to cold meat was that Anakin was lying on it, fast asleep. At some point in the night he must have joined Obi-wan on the couch, though Obi-wan had no memory of it.

He pulled his arm free, gritting his teeth at the tingling, then answered his comm with his left hand instead. “Kenobi here.”

“Padawan Kenobi,” an unfamiliar voice said. “You’ve been summoned to stand before the Council at 0900 hours.”

Obi-wan blinked, glancing around for the time.

“You have half an hour,” the caller said. “Sorry- I thought maybe you would still be asleep after everything. There’s an official summons in your inbox but I wanted to make sure you actually got it.”

He recognized the voice now- one of the other padawans in his year, who was doing a rotation with the Council. “Thanks, Vana. I’ll be there.”

He moved to end the call, but Vana wasn’t finished. “Be careful,” she added quickly. “I can’t say much, but you might want to appeal to Master Yoda and Master Koon- Master Windu is not in a good mood.”

Anxiety curled in his stomach. “Thanks,” he said, and she clicked off the call. He was left holding the comm, worrying.

Was this about the Sith, or about Anakin?

He hadn’t woken during the call, but had pushed closer to Obi-wan’s side. The couch wasn’t big enough for two people, but Anakin was small. His hair flopped around his head like a golden halo. The Force glowed warm and happy around him.

Obi-wan would have died for the boy.

He was surprised by the vehemence of his own thought. But the Force curled around them, uniting them. He could feel the slow, relaxed beat of Anakin’s heart. He sensed the swooping melody of the boy’s presence, lazily marking to Obi-wan’s own heart.

Obi-wan hadn’t bound himself to Qui-gon so quickly. It had taken them a long time to get to a point where he was so aware of his master, and even now he knew he was linked tighter to Anakin than to Qui-gon.

“Little bastard,” he whispered, shaking out his fingers as they came back to life. The tingling sent electric bolts all the way up to his shoulder. But he didn’t want to break this bond with Anakin. It felt right.

He had a good feeling about this.

“I don’t normally get good feelings,” he whispered to Anakin, too quiet to wake him, then got up to brush his teeth and get dressed. The Council would wring him out for declaring Anakin as his, but the worst they could do was make him leave the Order. And Obi-wan had already left the Order and survived.

It was a strangely freeing feeling. Qui-gon was alive. Anakin trusted him. He had killed a kriffing Sith Lord.

What could Master Windu do to him?

He was dressed in ten minutes- it wasn’t enough time to fully shower but he washed his face and put on fresh robes. When he was about to leave, he shook Anakin gently.

The boy made a bleary noise- poor kid was getting his ass kicked by ship lag. “I’m going to meet with the Council,” Obi-wan told him. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour. There’s soup in the fridge if you get hungry but I’ll take you to breakfast when I get finished.”

Anakin sat up, rubbing his face. “You’re leaving?”

“Not for long.” Obi-wan pulled on his cloak, doing his best to smooth out some of the wrinkles. “I’ll be back. Will you be okay for an hour or so?”

“Yeah. I don’t need a babysitter. Sometimes I watch Watto’s shop all by myself.”

Obi-wan paused as he pulled on his boots. “Of course. Here.” One boot on, he returned to his room and picked up his extra comm. It only took him a moment to program his own number. “If you need me, I’m the second contact,” he said, handing it to Anakin. “Do not call the first contact.”

Anakin nodded gravely. “Who’s the first person?”

Obi-wan returned to the door to put on his other boot. He considered lying, but Anakin would certainly be able to tell.

“Oh, Satine,” Anakin said before Obi-wan could say anything. “Okay. Don’t call your girlfriend. Just you. Got it.”

“I mean it, Anakin.” Obi-wan smoothed his robes one last time, then turned towards the boy. “Emergencies only. And she’s not my girlfriend.”

Anakin nodded and gave Obi-wan a sweet smile. “Have fun talking to the Council,” he said too cheerfully.

Obi-wan snorted and left.

...

The good feeling was quickly replaced by anxiety as Obi-wan drew closer to the Council chambers. He could not be in real trouble, right? He had killed a Sith. Right?

Well, okay, he didn’t check the body after, but he’d been a little distracted by his master being so close to death, and the body had been at the bottom of a reactor. But he’d been sliced in half- Obi-wan had felt the resistance of meat and bone against the saber and watched the legs separate from the torso. The Sith was dead.

The Sith was dead.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to dispel his misgivings. Nobody could survive that.

In his mind, tattooed lips curled into a cruel smile.

The Sith was dead.

And declaring Anakin as his student wasn’t a sin- he would be training the boy as a Jedi. The Counsel could be a bit miffed about that but ultimately, they couldn’t be angry. People claimed students outside of the Order sometimes- usually younger, of course, but it happened.

So really, the only reason Obi-wan was so anxious was because he was being called to speak and Qui-gon wouldn’t be there. He needed to get over this irrational anxiety if he was to be a good master for Anakin.

The thought of Anakin shook him out of his own head and when he reached the vestibule he took a few deep breaths. He was still scared, but it was a more distant worry now. He could function and deal with his worries later.

It was about quarter after nine when Obi-wan was actually summoned in. That worked out well- he half-meditated for the extra fifteen minutes and managed to push his worries so deep in his head that he barely felt them.

Yet, he still felt naked and exposed standing in the circle of Councilors without Qui-gon. He bowed deeply and hoped his cloak wasn’t too wrinkled.

“Padawan Kenobi,” Master Mundi began. His fingers were steepled under his chin. “While you have already reported to Masters Yoda and Windu, the whole Council must hear your testimony of your mission to Naboo.”

“Of course, Master.” Obi-wan took a breath, then told them. He was careful to keep his voice even. He spoke only the facts, leaving his own opinions and feelings out.

They were silent, for the most part. Occasionally, someone would interject with a question. Obi-wan had been reporting on missions for a long time now. The Council preferred him to report over Qui-gon, in fact. When they asked a question, Obi-wan took it at face value and elaborated, where Qui-gon usually took it as a challenge or an insult.

But usually Qui-gon picked up when the fighting began. This time, Obi-wan was on his own.

“And why,” Master Billaba asked at the end of Obi-wan’s account, “did you agree to train this boy?”

Obi-wan turned towards her. “My master asked me-“

“Padawan Kenobi,” Master Billaba said, raising a hand. “I am asking about you, not Master Jinn.”

Obi-wan nodded. He clasped his opposite wrists inside his sleeves. “I believe Anakin has great potential,” he said, bowing his head. “He is strong in the Force and very intelligent, and his morals are unerringly good.” He hesitated. “He has seen things that no child should see, and he wishes to right those wrongs. I see that as a noble goal, and I would help him with it.”

Master Billaba nodded, though there was no expression on her face.

“He is too old,” Master Rancisis said. “He already has too much fear in him. He will never truly understand the Jedi teachings. He is unfit.”

Obi-wan bowed his head. “With respect, Master, I disagree. He is afraid, but I will teach him to overcome that. I was fearful at his age as well, and I had a far easier childhood than he has.”

“You are young as well, Obi-wan,” Master Koon said. There was no accusation in his voice- it was just a statement. “Taking a normal padawan is a great responsibility. Taking one of such a tenuous background is even moreso. You will need help.”

“Master Jinn is alive,” Obi-wan said, bowing his head.

“And I will help you as well,” Master Koon said, “should your old master overwhelm you too much.”

Even through the mask, the humor was evident in his voice. Obi-wan smiled and bowed his head in thanks.

“We have not made a decision,” Master Mundi said, eyes narrowing. “Kenobi is still a padawan himself-“

“A padawan who has proven himself many times over,” Master Koon replied evenly. “If he says he is up to the challenge, then I am inclined to believe him. He will need the support of the Order in training young Skywalker.”

“I agree with Master Koon,” Master Billaba said. “Padawan Kenobi has faced more of a trial over this mission than the official Knighthood Trial. He faced the Dark, and is untouched.” Her eyes flicked across the circle towards Master Windu. Obi-wan fought the urge to whip around- he hated standing in the center of a circle.

“Do you stand by your previous declaration, Kenobi?” Master Windu asked.

His previous... “Excuse me?”

Master Windu folded his hands on his lap. “Your declaration that you would leave the Order should we refuse to induct Skywalker.”

Gasps echoes around the circle, and Obi-wan winced at the reaction but kept his back straight. He hadn’t realized that was a surprise- it seemed the Council knew everything else.

“Yes,” Obi-wan said, when the mutters died down a moment later. “I believe Anakin is meant to be trained in the ways of the Force. If he were forced to leave, I would go with him.” He hesitated. “But I truly hope it would not come to that. I do not wish to leave.”

“He cannot be allowed to train this boy,” Master Mundi said, all but leaping to his feet. “Kenobi has left the Order before- he cannot be trusted with a-”

“He was a boy, and he believed he was doing the right thing,” Master Billaba interrupted.

“Melida-Daan is a closed case from the past,” Master Koon said. “It has no impact on his decision today.”

“If anything, Mandalore is what we should be discussing,” Master Tiin said, speaking up for the first time. “Is that where you would take the boy, Kenobi? To be with your illicit love on a war torn world?”

Obi-wan took a breath, then exhaled his frustration into the Force. “To be honest, I did not think that far ahead,” he said. “I was more concerned with my master’s current well-being than with the future.”

“Leave the boy alone,” Master Koon snapped. “You remember being young. He learned his lesson from Mandalore- we do not need to keep bringing it up.”

“But it’s a genuine question,” Master Tiin said, crossing his arms. “It would be a dangerous world for a child, and if he would take Skywalker there then it suggests that he is yet unfit-”

“I would return to Tatooine first,” Obi-wan interrupted. He was horrified at his own interrupting for a second, until everyone stared at him and he was forced to continue. “Anakin’s mother remains a slave. If I were to leave the Order with him, I would return to Tatooine. I have skills that would make me a valuable worker, and I would save my money and buy his mother, then free her. Then I would take them someplace safe. Naboo, or Alderaan, perhaps. But, as I said, I have not thought that far in advance. I apologize."

They were silent. Obi-wan swallowed. He hadn’t even considered the plan until directly asked. But it seemed like a good one.

“I care about Anakin as a person,” Obi-wan said, when they remained silent. “I can’t imagine what he’s gone through thus far in his life. I only wore the collar for a short time, but it was one of the worst experiences of my life. Anakin has been given an opportunity, and he has chosen me as much as I have chosen him. I won’t betray that trust.”

He waited. The Force was heavy in the room, suffocating, as the Councilors glanced between each other.

Yoda cleared his throat. Obi-wan turned, swallowing hard despite himself.

He loved Master Yoda. From his first nightmare of the future, when he was but a youngling, Yoda had been there. Yoda taught him how to tell the difference between an internal feeling and a feeling from the Force. He was relatively certain it had been Yoda’s idea that Qui-gon become his master.

But Yoda taught Obi-wan to listen to the Force before he’d even known Qui-gon’s name. And Obi-wan was listening to the Force right now. He would not back down.

“Too old and too afraid the boy is,” Yoda said, shaking his head. “Unfit for the Jedi, Anakin Skywalker is.”

Obi-wan kept his expression mild, but he clasped his wrists harder.

“But fit for Knighthood, Obi-wan has proven himself,” Yoda said. “More of a trial is slaying a Sith than anything planned by this Council.” He gave Obi-wan a fond look, but it turned hard a moment later. “And a right to choose his own student, a knight has.”

“Are you suggesting knighting him?” Master Mundi turned sharply in his chair. “Without having him face the Trials?”

Obi-wan gripped his wrists even tighter, nails pressed into his skin. “Masters, I would never presume to be above the Trials-“

“Proven yourself, you have,” Yoda said, bowing his head. “Slain a monster, you have. Defeated the Dark Side, you did.” He took a breath, green eyes unfocusing. “Shadowed, the future is. Unclear, what the Sith and the Chosen One mean. But need the Sith-Slayer, we will.”

Master Windu pinched the bridge of his nose. “I agree. Kenobi should be knighted. I don’t like it- I think he should have another year with Jinn. But in light of Jinn’s injuries and Kenobi’s own heroism, I don’t see another option.”

Obi-wan took a deep breath. He should have been celebrating, but this felt damning instead. His stomach rolled with the sense that something was wrong here. The future was clouded with darkness and he was being knighted too quickly.

Around him, the Council took a vote. Their ‘ayes’ echoed in Obi-wan’s head, bouncing around him, magnified.

“What say you, Obi-wan?” Yoda asked when the votes had been cast.

Obi-wan closed his eyes and took a breath. “The future feels shadowed,” he said, hoping honesty was the best policy here. “But I am ready to become a knight. I would... if I could, I would wait until my master is able to attend?”

It came out in a tiny question, his voice too small.

They glanced at each other. Obi-wan didn’t see what the issue was- there was no rush, was there? Anakin was only nine. They could delay an entire four years and the boy wouldn't be in danger of aging out.

“I see no harm in that,” Master Koon said, his deep voice rumbling with sympathy. “The Chancellor will understand the delay.”

“Thank you,” Obi-wan said, bowing. The Chancellor? What did The Chancellor care about his knighthood? Maybe just that he had helped with Naboo.

“You are dismissed,” Master Windu said.

“Thank you, Masters,” Obi-wan repeated, bowing. “I am honored by your decision,” he added, though he didn’t really feel it, and then he fled.

He was going to be knighted, yet he felt like the ground was dropping out from underneath him.

But he shoved his bad feeling aside, to meditate on it later. For now, he was going to take Anakin to breakfast. Obi-wan would become a knight and Anakin would become a padawan. The galaxy grew darker, and yet Obi-wan knew, in the deepest part of his heart, that he belonged with that boy from Tatooine.  

Chapter Text

“A pity the Jedi weren’t allowed to enjoy the fruits of their heroism,” Sheev said, and sipped his wine. “They were such brave boys. Have you heard about the welfare of their master?”

“I have not,” Padmé said. Her own wine set her head spinning- she hadn’t meant to partake, and she was technically underage, but it was only Sheev. They stood on the balcony overlooking the city. The official celebrations weren’t scheduled until a few days from now, but already a festival had broken out in the streets. Flower petals scattered on a breeze that smelled like a hundred types of food. “I had hoped that they would send word, but they are a very private order.”

“Mm, quite.” Sheev sipped his wine and moved to sit on one of the balcony’s chairs. “Still, a pity those two were whisked away so quickly. I would have loved to meet the boy who defeated the Trade Federation.”

“He’s an excellent pilot,” Padmé said. A block over from the festival, a hospital had tents out in their courtyard for those still coming in with scars from the battle. From this high in the air, Padmé could only tell the difference by where the tents stood. “We owe him a great deal.”

“They are going to knight Kenobi,” Sheev mused. He swirled his wine around in the glass, studying the deep purple. “I put in the request myself- he truly proved himself, don’t you think? If anybody deserves a promotion, it’s him.”

“I agree with you,” Padmé murmured. She set her hands on the rail, the stone cool under her fingers. “He was very brave.”

Sheev sipped his wine, quietly watching the activity on the streets below.

“Strange, about him and the Duchess,” Padmé said, then giggled to herself. “He didn’t seem like the type, but he did have nice arms-” She cut herself off, grimacing, then giggling again at the thought. “I apologize. I’m sure it’s nothing more than a rumor.”

“Do not apologize, my dear.”

Padmé turned around to find that Sheev was smiling at her, amused but not offended. “You may be queen, but you still deserve to feel like a girl. Tell me this rumor that has you acting your age.”

Padmé covered her mouth, but there was no danger around Sheev. Perhaps he was Chancellor now, but he was still Sheev Palpatine, a representative who seemed determined to be grandfather to the entire galaxy.

“The Duchess of Mandalore,” Padmé said through her fingers. Perhaps it was the glass of wine after a long day of meetings, or exhaustion, or the sense of celebration drifting up from the streets, but she felt willing to indulge in the rumor. “Of course, this is all conjecture. But I am still in contact with some of the girls from my old Law and Policy classes, and one of them has family on Mandalore.” She bit her lip, the giggle breaking free again.

“And apparently, the rumor on Mandalore is that the Jedi and their Duchess…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it in front of Sheev.

But he seemed to get the message. He snorted into his wine and rolled his eyes upwards. “Ah, to be young,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you know if they’re still together?”

Padmé shook her head. “Like I said, I don’t even know if it’s true. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Obviously, a rumor doesn’t change how I feel towards him- he was brave and noble in defense of my people.” She blinked, suddenly aware of the implication. “And he never made any such advances towards me. He was nothing but professional. I apologize- it is nothing but a tabloid rumor.”

“Of course!” Sheev stood suddenly. “I saw the two of you together- he is the picture of Jedi excellence. Don’t worry about my misreading, my dear. I certainly understand your amusement in this case. Kenobi and Kryze are both career-oriented, serious individuals. A relationship between them would be quite humorous.”

Padmé nodded, though her humor had vanished. She regretted saying anything at all, though she couldn’t pinpoint why exactly beyond a gut feeling. She wished one of her handmaidens had been there to smack her. She barely knew Obi-wan, and she had met Satine once, at a wedding they had both attended some years ago. She could barely remember the meeting, except a vague sense that she’d seen the older girl as some sort of beautiful idol.

She shouldn’t be talking about rumors. She was above that.

“He will be knighted then?” Padmé leapt on the former subject. “Is a knighting ceremony a public event?”

“Did you wish to attend?” Sheev walked over to the balcony, looking over the ledge at the celebrations below.

“He helped my people,” Padmé said. “I’m not entirely educated on the Jedi traditions, but I think showing Naboo’s support…”

“It sounds like a wonderful idea!” Sheev finished the last sip of his wine, then set the glass on the balcony rail. “I was considering attending myself. Forgive me my musings, but…” He glanced at her, sidelong.

“Please, share,” she said, giving him a smile. “I want to hear your ideas. You are one of my people.”

His smile was wide and grateful and just a bit embarrassed. “Well, as Chancellor, I’ve been considering ways to bring the government closer to the people. And one of the main barriers are the Jedi- We both know that they’re a religious order, dedicated to the Force…” He waved a hand, imitating a mind trick. “But to the civilian folk, sometimes I think they may come off as more of a… police force.”

Padmé nodded. She wasn’t quite sure where he was going, but she was willing to listen.

“But perhaps, opening the doors to some of their secrets- not all! I wouldn’t dream of interrupting any of their sacred rituals! But perhaps, showing people that they are a religious order, and not a Republic army…” He smiled self-indulgently. “Perhaps that’s why I recommended Kenobi be knighted. I want to be involved with my people. I want to unify the Senate and the Jedi and the citizens themselves.”

“A simple knighting ceremony be a good place to begin,” Padmé mused. She felt slightly out of her league, considering the whole galaxy instead of just Naboo. “They risked their lives for Naboo. And Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi have made quite the name for themselves on other worlds as well. The galaxy would be pleased to see Padawan Kenobi knighted.”

Sheev beamed, clasping his hands together. “I’m so happy you agree with me. The galaxy should see their dream padawan become a knight. We could make a party of it- we could host it at the Nubian Embassy on Coruscant. We could invite Miss Kryze as well- I’m sure she would appreciate an excuse to see the young knight, especially now that Mandalore’s latest political crisis has settled.”

Padmé had to admit that she liked the idea. She could thank the Jedi in the way they deserved; she could wear her highest fashions; she could rub shoulders with people with the power to help others. “I would have to run it past my advisors,” she said. “But I like the idea. We should find out when they expect Master Jinn to be recovered.”

“Oh, my dear, this is excellent.” Sheev looked ready to jump up and down, but he refrained. “I will set my assistants on it immediately.”

“Perfect. Keep me informed.” Padmé smiled at him. “Now, I must retire. My handmaidens and I must go over our notes for my speech tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Sheev touched her arm, then turned back to the balcony. “Have a good night, my dear. And good luck with your new policy meetings tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Padmé bowed her head. “If I don’t see you, have a safe flight back to Coruscant in the morning.”

…

“Kenobi! You son of a gun, I heard they’re knighting you!” Quinlan appeared seemingly from nowhere in the commissary and threw an arm around Obi-wan’s shoulder. “And this is Qui-gon’s kid? Damn, how’d he father a blonde? I thought he was into dark haired ladies-“

“Ignore him, Anakin,” Obi-wan said, taking a forkful of eggs like a knight wasn’t draped over his shoulders. “He’s crazy.”

Quinlan sat down beside them like he’d been invited to their breakfast table and hadn’t simply appeared. “Me, crazy? You’re one to talk, bucko.” He clapped Obi-wan’s shoulder, then turned towards Anakin. “So you’re Jinn’s kid, huh-“

“Qui-gon isn’t my dad,” Anakin said, glancing over at Obi-wan. Obi-wan rolled his eyes back, but nodded. Quinlan was crazy, yes, but mostly harmless. What a way to describe one of his friends.

“He just found me,” Anakin continued. “He bet on me in the Boonta Eve and I won. So he took me to be a Jedi.”

“Seriously. He bet on you?” Quinlan turned sharply back to Obi-wan. “You let your master enter pod-race bets?”

“I was on the ship guarding the queen of Naboo.” Obi-wan took a sip of his tea. He’d splurged a little, and it was pale from the cream and sugar he’d added. He thought he deserved it after a morning visit to the Council. “I had no say in the matter.”

“Because straight laced Kenobi would never place bets on a pod-race,” Quinlan said, raising an eyebrow. “Only a game of Sebacc where he can cheat like a mother-“

“Alright, Quin.” Obi-wan smiled mildly. “We can lay off now, I think.”

Quinlan pursed his lips, but apparently took pity. “Okay, but is it true they’re knighting you? Come on, man, you can tell me.”

“Yes.” Obi-wan hadn’t even told Anakin yet. His meeting with the Council still felt unreal. “They’re, uh, yeah. They’re knighting me.”

“Wait, for real?” Anakin leapt up. “That’s awesome! That’s like, basically graduation, right?”

“Yes, sir.” Quinlan gave Anakin a tiny salute. “It means our Obi is a grown-ass Jedi Knight. Welcome to knighthood! First thing we do is get you a better haircut. Like mine.” He tossed his head like a model, throwing his dreads back.

Obi-wan rolled his eyes. “I still hold that knighting you was a mistake.”

“Hey, I passed the Trials fair and square.” Quinlan snagged a piece of fruit off Obi-wan’s plate and bit into it. “So kid,” he started with his mouth still full. “If you’re not Jinn’s, what’re you doing hereeeeee-oh hells, Obi, what is he?” Quinlan whipped around. “He’s like looking into the kriffing sun!”

“I’m gonna be Obi-wan’s padawan,” Anakin said. His eyes flicked once to Obi-wan for confirmation, and Obi-wan gave him a small nod and smile over his tea. Anakin would never doubt having a willing master, not when Obi-wan was around.

“Obi-wan’s padawan?” Quinlan pressed a hand to his own chest like he’d been overcome with emotion. “Oh Obi, my boy, my sweet little padawan, you’ve taken a padawan of your own? Look at you, all grown up-“

“Cool it, Quin.” Obi-wan wrapped his fingers around his tea.

Quinlan rolled his eyes. “Seriously though, you’re the only one who could handle a kid right now. I’d probably forget to feed it.”

Obi-wan quirked an eyebrow. “Have I forgotten to feed you yet, Anakin?”

“Nope.” Anakin grinned. “He’s a great teacher. And he killed a Sith! It was awesome. I mean, I didn’t see it, but I bet it was epic. Right, Obi-wan?”

Quinlan’s focus was like a laser beam. “You... okay. Okay okay okay.” He held up his hands for them to slow down. “I heard a lot of rumors before I managed to track you down. You being knighted? Well, duh, you’re such a goody-two-shoes that it just makes sense. And Jinn having a little oops?” He nodded politely at Anakin.

“He isn’t my master’s,” Obi-wan corrected, though he knew Quinlan wasn’t listening.

“Well, we both know that man gets major tail-“

“Not when I’m with him-“

“Well of course he wouldn’t do it with you right there. He isn’t like you getting all handsy on the Duchess on that security tape-“

“WHAT security tape?” Obi-wan jumped up like he could destroy it that moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anakin flinch at the movement but he was a little more concerned with-

Quinlan burst out laughing, smacking a hand against the table. “Oh Force, Obi, your face! I’m joking, I’m joking-”

“Not funny.” Obi-wan sat back down and pretended he didn’t notice people at other tables glancing over. Hopefully, they would see Quinlan and understand.

“The Duchess is Satine, right?” Anakin asked innocently. “The girl Obi-wan is in love-”

“We are over.” Obi-wan pressed his hands flat on the table, glaring at Quinlan. “As I said. If you’re going to bring her up, then I will tell everybody about that time on Alderaan when I walked in on you and three others-“

“Obi!” Quinlan exclaimed. “That’s not fair! I literally invited you-“

Anakin giggled into his hands, eyes flicking back and forth between them. Obi-wan grit his teeth, glancing skyward for help from the Force. “This is not a conversation to have in front of children, Quin,” he snapped.

“Hey, you’re the one who stooped to blackmail.” Quinlan said, shrugging. “But- Okay, stop changing the subject. You actually killed a Sith? Because I heard you killed something but I figured it was just a generic dark-sider. But an actual Sith?”

“An actual Sith,” Obi-wan said. “They’re back, if they ever truly vanished.”

“Huh,” Quinlan said, nodding. He glanced over at Anakin. “Looks like you managed to snag the best teacher then, at least for saber stuff. I knew he could kick all our Jedi asses, but apparently he kicks Sith ass too.”

“Yeah. He’s awesome.” Anakin grinned at Obi-wan. “And you’re gonna teach me to fight too, right?”

“Of course,” Obi-wan said. He took the last sip of his tea. “In fact, I could give you a demonstration right now. I haven’t worked out since that duel, and I’m afraid if I try to meditate I’ll be too jittery.” He turned and smiled sweetly at Quinlan.

Anakin jumped up. “Oh wizard! I wanna see you guys fight!”

Quinlan blinked, glancing between them. “Oh no. No thank you. I am not letting you beat me up just to impress your new apprentice.”

“Just one spar, Quin.” Obi-wan tilted his head a little, making himself small and innocent in the Force. “I’m not beating you up. You just need to watch your footwork on your defense.”

“No way.” Quinlan crossed his arms. “You aren’t a knight yet. It’ll look bad if I get beat by a padawan.”

“Then don’t get beat.” Obi-wan pouted, then reached out to touch Quinlan’s arm, fingers feather-light against the knight’s skin. “Please, Quin. I’ve had a rough week. I need to get it out of my system.”

Quinlan jerked his arm back to cradle it against his chest. “You’re like a fucking siren, Kenobi,” he muttered, then shot a glare at Anakin. “You really wanna see your new master in action?”

Anakin nodded vehemently.

Quinlan groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. “You can’t be all flirty and have a cute kid with you, Obi-wan. People are weak. It’s not fair.”

Obi-wan lightly kicked Anakin under the table and tilted his head slightly. Anakin grinned at him, then pouted at Quinlan. “Please?” He asked. “I wanna see a real Jedi fight. We used to pretend on Tatooine with sticks but I wanna see it for real.”

Quinlan groaned, but stood. “Fine. Fine. I’ll take the L on this. You guys ready to go?”

Obi-wan grinned and hopped up, picking up his and Anakin’s plates. “I’ll need to borrow a lightsaber,” he said as he returned them. “I lost mine.”

“Obi-wan Kenobi lost his saber?” Quinlan slapped a hand to his forehead. “You’re the last person I would have pegged to lose a saber.”

“What do you mean, Obi-wan lost his saber?” Luminara had been sitting a few tables over with a few other new knights, apparently listening. “He never loses anything.”

“He lost it fighting a Sith Lord,” Quinlan told her. “Now he wants to fight me to impress his new apprentice.”

“You really did kill a Sith?” Luminara stood, an eyebrow raised. She glanced towards Anakin, then back to Obi-wan, then back to Anakin. “Well, Initiate Skywalker, it won’t be a particularly good fight against Knight Voss. How would you like to see him spar with me instead?”

“Are we sparring Padawan Kenobi?” Shaak sidled up beside Luminara. The teeth on her headdress glinted in the commissary light. “I suppose if the Sith are truly back, it would be a good learning experience to spar with one who knows how to kill them.”

Sparring with Quinlan was one thing, but Luminara Unduli and Shaak Ti were respected young knights. Obi-wan didn’t people to think he was prideful, flaunting his big kill.

But also, now that he was gearing up to spar, he was itching for more of a challenge. Quinlan was good, of course, but his talents lay in tracking and undercover work more than head on lightsaber battles.

“I’ll just need to borrow a lightsaber,” Obi-wan said with a little bow to the knights. Then he glanced at Anakin. “It will be good experience to see some different styles.”

“As a learning exercise,” Shaak agreed, bowing her head to the boy. “Sometimes it’s good to see your master lose. He can teach you humility in defeat.”

“Obi-wan’s not gonna lose,” Anakin said, crossing his arms. “He can beat all of you.”

“He said it, not me,” Obi-wan said, offering the knights a small smile.

...

Plo stepped into the gym just in time to see Obi-wan kick Quinlan’s knee out from under him then whip his body around to touch the yellow training saber to the knight’s neck. It was a brutal move, one that made Obi-wan a vicious fighter in the field.

It was entirely inappropriate for a formal spar, but neither he nor Quinlan nor the several young knights and older padawans who had gathered seemed to care. This was not a formal challenge. This appeared to be people throwing themselves into the ring for a chance to defeat the Sith killer padawan. And Obi-wan, a brawler despite his polite smiles and quiet disposition, seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much.

Plo lingered back beyond the bleachers as to not startle the youthful Jedi with his presence. He was curious.

Obi-wan hauled Quinlan to his feet, and the two clasped arms before Quinlan retreated to the crowd, limping slightly. Luminara was next. She adhered strictly to the Code and was one of the most by-the-book knights of her year, but her eyes glittered with determination when she bowed to Obi-wan.

Obi-wan bowed back, sweeping his borrowed saber down in a salute.

She struck the first blow, a graceful arc meant to test Obi-wan rather than hurt him. He ducked it, circling his saber over his head so her blow bounced off, then went in low.

She parried, and then there was an exchange too quick for organic eyes to catch.

“I heard there was a challenge issued,” Mace said, stepping into the gym beside Plo. “I should have guessed it was against Kenobi.”

“Unduli is holding her own,” Plo said, stepping aside to give Mace room to see. “But I got here just in time to see Voss end up on the ground.”

Mace grunted. “At least Kenobi’s looking a little more lively. He was so pale in the meeting I thought he was going to pass out.”

“You terrified him,” Plo said, rolling his eyes. (Mace would never see behind his mask.)

“And you coddled him.” Mace raised an eyebrow. “It’s an even trade.”

Plo grunted and looked back to the fight. Luminara landed a glancing blow, but Obi-wan twisted so it would have only wounded and not taken off his arm. But she hesitated in her triumph over landing a hit, and Obi-wan took the opening, sweeping his blade to her side. It would have sliced her in half if it had been a full powered saber. As it was, she’d have a burn on her ribs.

The Force twisted with her frustration, then relaxed as she let it go. “Until next time, Padawan Kenobi,” she said, and bowed.

He bowed back, then tugged his sleeve up to inspect the blistering burn on his arm. That was such a Kenobi thing to do- soften her loss, show her that she had wounded him. He tugged his sleeve back down and shook out his hand.

“My turn,” Shaak said, stalking into the ring. She grinned in that predatory way that Togrutas had, and Obi-wan smiled politely back and saluted her.

“He needs a bit of coddling,” Plo said. “I don’t mind being good cop. I still hold it was a bad idea to make him wait for Qui-gon to be ready. He should have had a master at ten or eleven.”

“Qui-gon trained him well though,” Mace said, nodding towards the fight. It was fast and brutal. Both Shaak and Obi-wan used their whole bodies as weapons, leaping around each other and throwing kicks and punches as well as saber slashes.

“Well, Qui-gon should have been ready earlier,” Plo said. “Did she just go for a knee to the crotch?”

“She did.” Mace grunted. Plo could hear his annoyance. “Too bad she didn’t land it- then maybe we wouldn’t have to worry about that Duchess anymore.”

Plo rolled his eyes again, but let it drop. Obi-wan punched Shaak with the handle of his saber. She jerked her body away so he hit her shoulder instead of her face.

“Where’s Anakin?” Mace stepped forward to scan the crowd. “Oh, there he is. Bright little bastard, isn’t he?”

“He’s very strong in the Force,” Plo agreed. “It would have been a mistake to leave him on Tatooine, I think.”

Mace grunted. “If he’d been born in Republic space, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“He was not, though.” Plo slipped off his outer cloak and handed it to Mace.

“What’s this for?” Mace took it, frowning.

“I’m going to challenge Kenobi next,” Plo said. Under his mask, he grinned. “I think it would be good to give the boy an actual fight, since Jinn’s still laid up. I promise not to coddle him.”

In the ring, Obi-wan flipped over Shaak, spinning his body in the air to take her head off mid-jump. But she reacted quick, slapping her blade against Obi-wan’s thigh in the same second. He technically won, but if it were real, he would have paid with his leg.

Both panting, they bowed to each other. Obi-wan turned around to wave at Anakin, but came face to face with Plo.

“Master Koon!” He said, deactivating his saber. “We were sparring-“

“Yes, I see that.” Plo glanced towards the suddenly silent crowd, then ignited his own saber. “I was thinking to test myself against the Sith Killer as well.”

Obi-wan’s eyes widened. He glanced back towards his friends, then back to Plo. “It really isn’t a test, Master,” he said. “But I would be honored to spar against you.”

Plo stepped back, igniting his saber. Obi-wan mimicked his movement and bowed, sweeping the yellow blade in a salute.

They both went for the first blow, sabers clashing in a shower of sparks. Plo was surprised by the boy’s strength- he’d fought Obi-wan once before, years ago, when he was still an initiate. (He’d been privately considering asking the boy to be his padawan, but Yoda had hummed disapprovingly and shut the idea down long before he’d gotten to asking). But Obi-wan was no clumsy initiate anymore, and there was no shyness in the ring.

He fought viciously, using his youth and flexibility to turn circles and flips around Plo. But Plo was stronger and larger, and each time he caught Obi-wan’s saber he saw the boy tense his body into the lock.

Obi-wan was sweating from his previous fights, but Plo was fresh. Still, against this padawan that gave him only a small advantage. They danced across the ring, one way then the other.

Plo feinted and went in for a hit, but Obi-wan saw through it and spun the other way. He landed a glancing blow- the crowd was silent, except for Anakin and Quinlan’s cheers.

“Sorry, Master,” Obi-wan said over the next saber lock, but he didn’t look sorry at all.

Plo scoffed at him and pushed him back, using all his size and strength to keep Obi-wan on the ground. The boy was panting now. His tunic had dark patches of sweat. Each blow took him an extra moment to recover from.

Obi-wan landed another hit- this one against Plo’s calf. He felt the sting through his pant leg and swept the saber away before it could become critical. But his quick block destabilized Obi-wan and Plo twisted his own blade into Obi-wan’s ribs, on the level of his heart. He moved too quick to prevent Obi-wan’s escape, hitting him harder than he'd meant. The boy yelped and stumbled with the force of the blow.

Then he smiled and deactivated his saber.

“A good fight, Kenobi.” They bowed to each other, then Plo reached out to clasp the boy’s arm. “If you had your own saber, you might have had a chance at beating me.”

Obi-wan ducked his head, then glanced up at Plo from under his lashes. “Then perhaps we could have a rematch after I travel to Ilum?”

Plo chuckled, dropping Obi-wan’s arm. “You have yourself a challenge, padawan. Go get some salve on those burns before they scar.” He looked towards the small crowd. “And I suggest you all brush up on your saber work. Kenobi isn’t a prodigy. He practices.”

Obi-wan blushed at that.

Anakin darted up. “That was so wizard!” He bounced on his toes. “Can you teach me? Please? Right now?”

Obi-wan nodded. “In a bit. Maybe tomorrow? You’ll take formal classes eventually, but I would enjoy showing you some basics...”

Their voices faded as Plo returned to Mace to take his cloak back.

“I’ll admit, that was an impressive fight,” Mace said. “What’d you say to him?”

“He’s going to try to beat me again when he makes a new lightsaber.” Plo pushes open the door, waiting for Mace. “Did you already check in with Jinn?”

“I was on my way there,” Mace said, raising an eyebrow. “Should I tell him you’re making a bid for his padawan?”

“Obi-wan doesn’t need another master,” Plo said, falling into step beside Mace. ”What he needs is confidence.” He considered his words for a few moments as they waited for the lift. “He’s strongest when he has an opponent. But when he doesn’t have anything external to fight, I suspect he fights himself.”

“He certainly butts heads with Jinn,” Mace said, hitting the elevator button when it didn’t immediately come. “How will that work with Anakin?”

“Time will tell.” Plo grunted, looking upwards. “Was this the broken one?”

“I think it is.” Mace made a crude gesture towards the elevator and started down the hall for the next one. “I told them to put a fucking sign up.”

“When does anybody here actually listen to the Council?” Plo asked, shaking his head in amusement.

Mace grunted, less amused. “Are you coming to visit Jinn as well?”

“Will two of us overwhelm him?” Plo hesitated, letting Mace get ahead of him. He hadn’t seen Qui-gon in the Halls of Healing yet. He imagined the large, commanding Jedi laid low. He didn’t like the thought.

“I’m sure he can handle it,” Mace said. Though his back was to Plo, the eyeroll was audible in his words.

Still, Plo hesitated. He knew he should go with Mace, to soften whatever lecture his fellow was about to give. But he hated the Halls of Healing. He hated the way the smell of antiseptic filtered through his mask and he hated the sense of controlled chaos that followed Vokara like a cloud and he hated seeing his colleagues broken.

“I’ll let you handle this one,” He said, and tried to ignore the sense of shame that lingered with his own weakness. “I’ll talk to him next time.”

Mace stopped walking, turned, raised an eyebrow.

“I’m keeping an eye on his padawan for him,” Plo deflected, dragging his feet like a padawan. “He’s alive. I’ll talk to him later. Besides, he hasn’t liked me since the debacle on Argo Prime.”

Mace grunted, then waved a hand. “Suit yourself.”

...

“I know you’re awake,” Mace said, crossing his arms. “Your shields are useless with the painkillers.”

Qui-gon grunted and stopped pretending. “Are you here on behalf of the Council or yourself?”

Mace raised an eyebrow. “If I say both, will you cooperate?”

“It depends on the subject,” Qui-gon said, crossing his arms. He’d managed to get himself into a sitting position- Vokara had been pissed about that, preferring him to lay flat. But Qui-gon wasn’t going to keep having these conversations on his back like a flipped turtleduck.

Besides, a night of sleep and meditation had helped. He felt stronger today, and he suspected he would feel even stronger tomorrow. He’d always been quick at healing. The Sith had left a wound worse than most, but Qui-gon didn’t plan on letting it stop him.

“We’ll start with Kenobi then,” Mace said. “The Council voted. We’re going to knight him.”

“The Trials now?” Qui-gon frowned. “He is ready, I agree, but perhaps he should have time to meditate after this mission-“

“No Trials,” Mace interrupted. “We agreed that killing the Sith was more of a trial than we could give him. Making him do another would be redundant when he’s already proven himself.”

Qui-gon fell silent. He was a bit of a rebel, yes, and proud of it, but he was still a Jedi through and through. He had faced the Trials like every Jedi before him. They’d been very difficult, and he’d spent months preparing.

Obi-wan had faced a Sith with no preparation and had simply triumphed.

For a moment, he didn’t know whether he was speechlessly proud or viciously jealous.

“If anybody deserves instant knighthood, it’s Obi-wan,” he finally said. “I approve. When will the ceremony be?”

“When you’re ready.” Mace sat back in the visitor chair. “The new Chancellor is eager to celebrate his knighting since he helped Naboo. He’s already suggested a party in Kenobi’s honor.” He rolled his eyes. “Your apprentice will hate the attention, but I’ve already okay’d the plan.”

Qui-gon raised an eyebrow. “Is this a party to celebrate Obi-wan’s knighthood or a party to show that the Jedi are eating out of Palpatine’s hand?”

Mace shot Qui-gon a deadpan look.

“Obi-wan won’t like being used like that,” Qui-gon commented mildly. “He’ll know as soon as you tell him.”

“We’ll call it his first diplomatic mission as a knight,” Mace said. “We need more funding- this Temple is falling apart. Another lift is down. If Kenobi has to go have a glass of expensive wine and schmooze with some senators, so be it.”

“You know, there was a time when we didn’t have to do tricks for the Senate to get funding,” Qui-gon said. “The galaxy appreciated our work. We’re a religious order, not the Senate’s dogs-“

“This is the real world, Jinn.” Mace raised a hand to shut him up. “Kenobi is good at schmoozing. When all the elevators are fixed, you’ll thank him.”

Qui-gon still didn’t like it, but he knew as well as anybody else that there was no other way for the Jedi to have an income. Even as a nonprofit, they still needed to eat. And Obi-wan was good at manipulating scumbags. A smile here, a flutter of his eyelashes, and just a touch of the Force made people fall for whatever he said. Qui-gon was charming, but Obi-wan made charm into an art.

For a first mission as a new knight, the mission was a gimme. Obi-wan literally could not fail.

“We’ll ground him for six months or so after that,” Mace continued. “Make sure he and Skywalker are evaluated as a pair-“

“He and Anakin? So he is training the boy?”

“Against my advice,” Mace said. “But your apprentice put his foot down.” He frowned. “Yoda couldn’t stand the idea of losing his favorite student-“

“Wait, Wait.” Qui-gon shook his head. “What do you mean, losing his favorite student?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Mace leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Obi-wan told us, point blank, that he would leave if we didn’t accept your newest pathetic lifeform into the Order.”

Qui-gon started at Mace. “He... what?”

“Yes.” Mace rubbed a hand down his face. “It caused quite a stir. But if we let the Sith Killer leave after he saved the Supreme Chancellor’s homeworld...”

“You could kiss your new elevators goodbye.” Qui-gon smiled and settled back into his pillows. “I trained my boy well.”

“I would punch you if you weren’t already down,” Mace said through his teeth. “You’re a motherfucker, Jinn.”

“I had nothing to do with Obi-wan’s declaration,” Qui-gon said, careful to keep the smugness out of his voice. Then he sobered up. Obi-wan had been upset the night before, and Qui-gon assumed, selfishly, that it had purely been about his injuries.

He had told Obi-wan to train the boy, and Obi-wan had been prepared to sacrifice his entire life and career for the promise.

Kriff, Qui-gon thought.

Mace raised an eyebrow, like he could hear Qui-gon’s thoughts. Maybe he could.

“Focus on healing,” Mace said. He clapped Qui-gon’s shoulder as he stood up. “We’ll wait until you’re back up to actually knight Kenobi. Plo’s keeping an eye on him and Anakin until you’re back in the game.”

“Plo?” Qui-gon groaned. “He’s a terrible babysitter. He’ll undo all of Obi-wan’s training with candy and field trips to amusement parks-“

“While that is true, he also gave your padawan a good beating in the ring just now,” Mace said. “I got there just in time to watch your padawan defeat three knights before Plo put him back in his place. So I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Get some sleep, old friend.”

…

But Qui-gon did not get some sleep. Mace left him alone with his beeping monitors and his uneasy thoughts. Half of him wanted to summon Obi-wan right now and demand a full account of what had happened while he was down. The other half of him urged patience- he needed to be sure of his own thoughts before he truly interrogated his apprentice. Rash words never worked with Obi-wan.

Obi-wan’s fighting always worried Qui-gon- though he trusted his padawan, a piece of him was always afraid he would slip back into his aggressive initiate days. Obi-wan’s fighting had never actually stopped- it had simply changed. Once, he’d wielded his blade with anger and aggression. Now, it was with the purpose of honing his skills and sometimes, when he felt comfortable, the simple joy of the movement.

But had he beat those three knights out of pure skill, or because he was taking out his frustration on them? Without talking to Obi-wan about it, Qui-gon couldn’t know. It wasn’t as though his aggression had been completely eliminated, after all. It still existed, honed like a knife and wielded as surely as a lightsaber. Normally, though, it was in defense of whomever he was protecting on that mission. But there were a few cases where it appeared- usually now in his sharp tongue more than his fists (although, he had punched a man on Mandalore for making a lewd comment about Satine, so his fists could not be fully discounted).

He shifted in the bed. His gut hurt where he’d been stabbed. Curse that Sith for getting him. Curse himself for not waiting for his padawan.

Qui-gon knew it was just an intense sparring session- he trusted Obi-wan, after all. But still, the idea that Obi-wan killed a Sith and then started fighting other Jedi lingered in Qui-gon’s head.

But Obi-wan was not Dark.

No- if anybody was going to go Dark it was…

Anakin.

Qui-gon closed his eyes, sinking into the memories of his dream. They were foggy and disjointed now, but he had typed up what he could remember onto a datapad then sent it to himself and deleted the file so Vokara wouldn’t find it. Of course, there was the possibility that a dream was nothing more than a dream, but Qui-gon could still hear the echoing, callous words.

I killed him.

Don’t hurt him, Master.

But in the vision, Anakin fell because Qui-gon had died. And he was very much not dead now- he felt alive enough to try to escape the Halls of Healing. But that didn’t change the fact that the potential for Darkness was there- inside that young slave boy was a seed that could grow into a monster.

But he was the Chosen One too, and he had the potential for great good as well. The future was not fixed, of course, and a warning for a potentiality was just that: a warning. Anakin was not destined for good or for evil- nobody’s lives were set in stone like that.

And yet, Obi-wan beating three knights chilled Qui-gon to the bone. Anakin was a child, full of potential, but Obi-wan was better. Obi-wan was destined for good- he had to be, or else Qui-gon was truly a failure. So if he beat those three fair and square out of his skill, that was okay, but if he was taking out his frustration on them…

“Focus, Jinn,” he growled aloud to himself, shaking himself from his circling thoughts. Of course Obi-wan wasn’t going Dark- the boy had been weeping with relief over Qui-gon’s bedside just the night before. Obi-wan was the epitome of goodness, and doubting him was unfair. Qui-gon had already spent too much of their time together doubting him, and now Obi-wan was going to be knighted.

Obi-wan was going to be knighted.

Qui-gon lay back in his pillows, staring up at the ceiling. It seemed unreal. Obi-wan had grown up quickly- too quickly, it seemed. Qui-gon would miss hearing his padawan’s footsteps just behind him. He’d miss how they knew each other’s tea preferences. He’d even miss Obi-wan’s sharp tongue, even when he was the one getting lashed.

There had been dark times in their relationship- times when Qui-gon was sure Obi-wan would betray him or that he would never make it to knighthood. And yet, here they were- Obi-wan had killed a Sith and claimed the Chosen One as his apprentice.

Maybe Qui-gon shouldn’t have doubted Obi-wan’s potential as an apprentice. Maybe he should have doubted his own potential as a master.

He tapped his fingers restlessly against the bedframe, staring up at the ceiling. For a dark moment, he wondered why Obi-wan had not left him long ago. Then he remembered that Obi-wan had left him, and had nearly been broken by the experience. And he’d been thirteen at the time. Thirteen, in a warzone, watching his new friends get blown to bloody chunks while his master berated him for choosing dying children over an injured woman.

(But Tahl was more than some woman- she was Tahl- but Obi-wan would never choose Satine over Qui-gon, but Satine was more than some woman too- Qui-gon respected her a great deal, but Obi-wan loved her like Qui-gon had loved Tahl- would he betray the Jedi for Satine like he had for Cerasi and Nield?)

His thoughts were running away from him. How could he heal if he were so unfocused?

Obi-wan had an insecure streak to his personality. He always, ultimately, tried to make Qui-gon proud. When he failed to do so, the light went flat in his eyes, and Qui-gon explained to him how to be better, and he did. He became better. He pushed himself harder than Qui-gon pushed him. And he still disappointed his own expectations.

Because when he wasn’t good enough, people died.

Qui-gon had almost died. This was the longest he’d spent in the Halls of Healing in a while, and he knew he’d been in a bacta tank before this- he could still smell the sticky-sweet in his sinuses when he inhaled too hard. How had Obi-wan reacted to his near-death? Qui-gon could barely remember.

Or maybe it was simple insecurity, and Obi-wan would outgrow it like an old cloak once he had a few successful missions under his belt. Qui-gon was stuck in this hospital room with only the occasional visitor and his own thoughts for company. Maybe he was overthinking everything, and in a moment, Obi-wan and Anakin would walk through the door laughing together about some shared joke. Obi-wan would be excited about his upcoming knighthood- his friends would take him out to some overpriced bar for drinks and they’d bond over shared experiences and then Obi-wan would become a true Jedi.

Qui-gon needed to meditate. Truly meditate, not just let his thoughts run away with him.

He remembered the vision of Obi-wan, shocked to silence by Qui-gon likening him to his son. He remembered the real Obi-wan, speechless at being called a good man. He remembered a child nearly too old to be a padawan dueling his rival for a sliver of a chance at being chosen. And Qui-gon had rejected him.

He closed his eyes, the wave of shame rising over him. No wonder Obi-wan had made such a scene in declaring Anakin as his padawan- he knew what it was to not know if he would have a master. Anakin would never wonder if someone would teach him- he already had a knight willing to throw away the entire Order for him.

Qui-gon had faced death. Between that and his apprentice truly growing up, long ignored thoughts were resurfacing. He needed to talk to Obi-wan. That much was certain. But their relationship was such a tangled web that he had no idea where to start.

Chapter Text

They’d tried to visit Qui-gon that night, but Master Che shooed them away- it was too late, she said, and they still had to run another scan and change his bandages. They could come back in the morning.

Obi-wan was scared of her- Anakin could sense the seed of fear, deep in Obi-wan’s being. It was wrapped by layers of polite Jedi, of course, but Anakin could still feel it. But, try as he might, he couldn’t figure out why Obi-wan was scared. She was just a healer- she felt like any other healer he’d known. Healers shared a certain core- they all wanted to rebuild people, even if they hid it behind gruff shields and snapping words. There was no secret evil inside Master Che, at least, that Anakin could sense.

Still, Obi-wan’s leeriness made him feel antsy.

Master Che’s face softened. “He’s doing well. I’ll let him know you stopped by,” she said. “Anakin, how are your stitches feeling?”

He rolled his shoulder where they’d taken the chip out of him. It hurt, but no worse than anything else he’d experienced. Plus he couldn’t feel the heat of infection, which was nice. “It’s good,” he said. “I can barely feel it.”

Master Che nodded, then turned to Obi-wan. “You have antiseptic? It was a deep cut, and I want it kept clean.”

Obi-wan bowed his head. “Of course, Master.”

Master Che studied Obi-wan for a long moment. “If you see any sign of an infection or fever, bring him back here for antibiotics.”

Obi-wan nodded again, focused intently on the healer. “Is there anything else I should keep in mind?”

She looked surprised, lekku tensing. Anakin sensed her sudden focus on Obi-wan, but he couldn’t read the emotion- it flicked too complicated across her mind for him to catch, like some prize wheel of feeling. It landed on pride, flooding around Obi-wan for an instant before vanishing behind her shields. She was proud of Obi-wan, but Anakin wasn’t sure why.

“Right now, you’re doing all that you should be doing,” she said. “I heard they’re knighting you. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Obi-wan bowed his head again and buried his hands in their opposite sleeves.

Master Che frowned, glanced at Anakin, then looked back to Obi-wan. “You earned it, Obi-wan,” she said, voice softening. Then she leaned forward, so nobody else would accidentally overhear. “I know you’ve had it hard, Padawan. It makes you a stronger Jedi than most. Anakin will benefit from having you as his master.”

Obi-wan bit his lip hard, shields tight around his mind, then squeezed Anakin’s shoulder. Anakin elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Yeah,” he agreed, just in case the two had forgotten he was there. “That’s why I picked you.”

Master Che stepped away from Obi-wan, flicking her head to relax her lekku. “But don’t you dare come to me with any more injuries- your lineage is giving me frown lines-”

“Could I get some burn salve, if you have any extra?” Obi-wan interrupted, eyes big and innocent. Anakin wanted to laugh, but he forced himself to stand serious at his new master’s side.

“He was showing me how to lightsaber fight,” Anakin said. “It was totally wizard. Obi-wan beat three Jedi even though he lost to Master Koon.”

Master Che abruptly closed her mouth, then breathed out a frustrated sigh through her nose. “You and your fighting,” she muttered, then disappeared behind a counter. A moment later, she reappeared with a small tub of something. “Here. Do I need to see any of them?”

“I’m alright. Thank you, Master,” Obi-wan said with a dramatic bow. He took the tub of salve and shoved it into an inner pocket of his tunic. “We’ll be back in the morning to visit with my master.”

“Please try to stay in one piece until then,” Master Che said, pinching the bridge of her nose. Then she waved them off.

Obi-wan did a quick about-face and led Anakin back to his apartment. At this point, Anakin was starting to recognize landmarks in the Temple. He thought that maybe he would be able to find his way back to Obi-wan’s place if he was left on his own. Still, he stuck close to his Jedi. He trusted Obi-wan, but there were so many strangers in the Temple that he wasn’t sure who else he could trust to ask for directions.

As soon as they got back, Anakin hopped onto the couch. “Today was fun,” he said, watching Obi-wan slip off his cloak. “I seriously can’t wait to learn to use a lightsaber like that.”

“Years of practice, youngling,” Obi-wan said with an embarrassed smile. “But I pay for it.” He pulled the salve from his pocket and set it on the kitchen table, then pulled his tunic up, holding it with his teeth so he could get at the burn on his ribs. It was already angry red and blistered.

Anakin hopped off the couch and trotted over. “I can get that for you, if you want,” he said.

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow, then dropped his shirt to free his mouth. “Thanks, but I can reach,” he said. “You mind grabbing me the bandages though? They’re in the top drawer over there.” He nodded, then pulled up his tunic again.

Anakin did as he’d been asked, grabbing the largest size and pulling the sticker off the adhesive backing so it would be ready. The salve Obi-wan glopped onto the burn smelled of sticky-sweet bacta and spicy herbs. It tickled Anakin’s nose.

“Am I gonna get abs too?” Anakin asked. He grinned like it was a joke, but he kind of meant it. It was odd to see someone so genuinely fit. Back home, people were either too skinny or too big. If you lived in the desert, you didn’t start your morning with a refreshing jog. But Obi-wan wasn’t a desert person- Anakin could see a light shadow of ribs only when Obi-wan twisted to get at his burnt side, but his muscles were more obvious. He worked out. He could eat enough calories and drink enough water to work out.

And now Anakin could too.

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow towards Anakin, made mute by his tunic in his teeth, then went back to bandaging his blistered burn. “Perhaps,” he said mildly once he’d dropped his tunic back into place and smoothed it out. He set his foot on a chair and rolled up his pant leg to get at the less intense burn on his thigh. “Although the aesthetic is not the goal of training-”

“Yeah, I know,” Anakin said, sitting and watching Obi-wan bind his burns. He knew that under his own shirt, his ribs were obvious even when he was sitting slumped like this. He didn’t want to be skinny like an ex-slave. He wanted to look good like Obi-wan. Look healthy.

On the auction block, Obi-wan would have been worth a fortune. His hair was auburn enough that someone could exaggerate and call it red. His freckles would be a detractor but blue eyes made up for that, and his body would make him a top seller in one of the pleasure palaces. Plus he was a Jedi- if someone could beat him into submission, he would be worth at least two fortunes. Especially if they could get his lightsaber too.

Anakin swallowed and looked down at the tiled kitchen floor.

“Actually, Ani, could you give me a hand?” Obi-wan had moved onto the burn on his arm and, one-handed, he couldn’t get the bandage to stick. “I think I used too much- are you alright?”

Anakin nodded and hopped up to help him. He’d gotten salve on the sticky part. Anakin cleaned off the edge of the wound with his thumb then stuck the bandage in place. The salve was warm and sticky on his fingers.

“I appreciate it,” Obi-wan said, turning his head to watch. He tugged his sleeve back down when Anakin had finished. “Truly, are you good? You feel far away.”

Anakin nodded. He was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Tatooine stuff right now anyways. Plus, Obi-wan had no idea what it was like. He lived in the Jedi Temple, and it was a comfortable place, from what Anakin had seen so far. They hadn’t even paid for any of the food they ate. But Anakin lived here now too. So yeah, he was good.

Obi-wan didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t try to argue either. Instead, he touched Anakin’s arm. “It’s not late yet,” he said. “I need to meditate, and you need to learn how.”

“Meditate?” Anakin’s thoughts shifted from depressing to incredulous. “Please tell me it’s some cool Jedi trick, and not just like, sitting on a sand dune for three hours until the sand people shoot you or the sun boils your brain.”

“Oh, no. The brain boiling is far too advanced for you right now,” Obi-wan said, deadpan, and headed for the door. “Come with me. You’ll like this.”

It took Anakin a moment to realize that Obi-wan had made a joke, and at that point the Jedi was already out the door. Anakin had to jog to catch up with him. “Where are we going? If we’re just sitting, can’t we just do it back at your place?”

“We could,” Obi-wan said, stopping by a lift. He hit the button then stood back from the door. “But there are nicer places. I promise, you’ll like this.”

Anakin didn’t quite trust that- Obi-wan’s eyes glittered in a way that suggested a trick, the same way they’d glittered when he knew he was going to beat the other Jedi Quin earlier. But he refused to explain himself. When they were on the lift and Anakin practically begged him to tell where they were going, he just said, “Patience, my young apprentice.”

“I’m not that much younger than you,” Anakin grumbled, crossing his arms. “You’re only like, sixteen.”

Obi-wan jerked around, composure vanishing with a prickly emotion that felt like a mix of amusement and offense and embarrassment. “I am an adult, Anakin.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You look like a kid. Plus, aren’t you still a student?”

Obi-wan huffed and straightened up again. “I’m a senior pada- no, you know what? I’m going to be knighted in a few days. And then I’ll be your teacher. Show me some respect.” The last words were spoken in a jovial tone and he raised an eyebrow towards Anakin.

“Doesn’t matter,” Anakin said, crossing his arms in mock annoyance. “You still look like you’re like, fourteen. Can you even grow a beard?”

“As a matter of fact, I can if I so choose,” Obi-wan said, and made a face at him. “The rule is that students are clean-shaven.”

“Yeah, okay.” Anakin raised an eyebrow. “Blame the rules.”

“It’s true,” Obi-wan shot back, but his voice cracked slightly with his defensive tone. He huffed at Anakin’s burst of laughter and stepped out of the lift before the doors had even finished opening, then started down the hall. “This way. I’ll still show you your surprise, even though you’re a brat.”

“You don’t really think I’m a brat,” Anakin said, hurrying to keep up with his longer legs. “Or else you wouldn’t be my master. You actually love me.”

“Oh no,” Obi-wan assured him, but his lips quirked in a suppressed smile. “I can still teach you and think you’re a brat. That’s how good I am.”

Anakin opened his mouth to throw another zinger back at Obi-wan (this was fun! He totally hadn’t pegged Obi-wan to be secretly snarky) but they stepped through another doorway. The new insult died on his lips.

The lake stretched before them, sparkling blue, surrounded by bright green foliage and trees that stretched high overhead. Anakin’s mouth dropped. “This- no way. No. Way. We’re still inside? Holy shit, Obi-wan!”

“Language,” Obi-wan called, but Anakin was already running forward, jumping a bed of bright flowers. Tiny rippling waves lapped on a stony shore- Anakin ripped his shoes off then splashed into the edge, yelping at the cold.

Obi-wan pulled off his boots as well. “Don’t go too deep!”

But he needn’t have worried- Anakin rolled up his pant legs and stopped where the water met his calves. He didn’t dare go further- he could see the line where it darkened as the depth dropped off, and he couldn’t swim. The water stretched out for ages, glittering under skylights colored to look like a blue sky on tropical world.

Obi-wan stepped into the water beside him, then elbowed him. “Good surprise?”

Anakin nodded, then crouched down to run his fingers through the shallows. Tiny fish swept away from his hands, then darted back to see if he was food. Their little mouths tickled his skin. “How is this even here?” he asked. “We’re inside. There’s a lake inside, Obi-wan.”

“Indeed, there is a lake inside.” A bit away, several large, flat rocks stuck out of the water. Obi-wan sat on the closest one, drawing his knees up to his chest. Water dripped from his bare feet, speckling the gray stone black. “Don’t ask me how or why- I’m sure they explained it in a class when I was a youngling, but I’ve long forgotten.”

Anakin moved closer to Obi-wan, then jumped when something brushed his foot- a bigger fish, glinting bright like a handful of coins. It continued on its fat, clumsy way. Obi-wan leaned over and stuck his fingers into the water. The fish bumped his hand, determined there was no food, then disappeared into the reeds closer to shore.

“Is there water on your planet?” Anakin asked suddenly. Obi-wan looked so at home next to the water, like he could pull off his tunic and dive right in. There had to be water where he came from.

Obi-wan shrugged, tilting his head back to soak up the imitation-sunlight. “I couldn’t tell you. I suppose I could look it up, sometime.”

“What?” Anakin stared at him. How could he be nonchalant about not knowing about his home planet? “How do you not know?”

“I came here very young.” Obi-wan leaned back into his arms, but straightened his head to consider Anakin. “I truly don’t remember much. I had a brother. His name was...” A shadow crossed his face when he couldn't tell Anakin the name, but he shook it off. “The Jedi are my family.”

Then he straightened, offering a hand for Anakin to join him on the rock. “The Jedi will be your family too.”

Anakin hesitated. He wondered if Obi-wan’s mother missed him, or his nameless brother. It hadn’t been his choice to be a Jedi. Anakin had chosen to be here, but Obi-wan had been raised here as a baby. If he had been in Anakin’s position, would he still have chosen the Jedi?

Obi-wan leaned forward. One of his feet slipped off the edge of the rock and into the water, but he ignored how it soaked the hem of his pant-leg. “Not as a replacement,” he amended, seeming to hear his own fallacy. “I know nobody could ever replace your mother.”

No. They couldn’t. And Anakin wasn’t sure about the entirety of the Order being his family- Obi-wan’s friends were nice, but some of the grownup masters were kind of scum. Anakin could sense the wariness mixed with love Obi-wan felt towards the masters, and it reminded him of the way super religious people felt towards gods who could smite them down at a moment’s notice. The ones who stood on the corners during festivals and shouted that the Great Twins of the Sky were going to scour the world clean of sin with burning sands. Mom always scoffed and muttered, “crazy idiots,” and never let Anakin talk to them.

Obi-wan’s emotions weren’t as dramatic, but they were there.

But he liked Obi-wan. He trusted the padawan. And Obi-wan trusted him too. Plus, Obi-wan let him come to his lightsaber fights and took him to meal times and brought him to this lake even though he didn’t have to. Kitster’s older brother had never let them play with him, back when he still lived with Kitster before he’d been sold. He said that little kids weren’t cool or fun. But Obi-wan didn’t seem to care about what people thought of a kid tagging along.

Plus, he couldn’t replace Obi-wan’s brother either, whoever he was, just like Obi-wan couldn’t replace Mom. So they were kind of even in that way.

He took Obi-wan’s hand and climbed up on the rock next to him, tilting his head up towards the fake sunlight too. It felt pleasantly warm on his skin, but not harsh like Tatooine’s daylight. Obi-wan’s delight bloomed bright beside him, making his mind feel warm too.

Yeah, Anakin wasn’t quite sure about all the Jedi being his family, but Obi-wan definitely could be.

They settled so they were leaning back to back against each other, Obi-wan sitting cross-legged, back stock-straight, and Anakin with his feet dangling in the chilly water. “Are we meditating yet?” Anakin asked, dropping his head back against Obi-wan’s shoulder blade.

“No. Hush. Close your eyes and feel the Force. It’s stronger here, when you’re surrounded by nature.” Anakin could feel the vibration of Obi-wan’s voice.

“Even fake nature?” Anakin piped up.

Obi-wan’s annoyance flared and dissipated in a heartbeat. “The entire planet is a city. I’ll take artificial nature over the rats on the lower levels. They’re bigger than you. Now hush. Open your mind to the Force. Follow my breathing.”

Anakin sighed but obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to breathe in tandem with Obi-wan, but Obi-wan breathed too slow. Anakin ended up holding his breath between each inhale and exhale, waiting for Obi-wan to continue. A few birds squawked nearby. Somewhere, further away, some kids were laughing. Anakin could sense them like bright lights.

The Force. He had to focus on the Force.

He hadn’t even known it was called the Force until he met Qui-gon. It just was. Fish didn’t have a word for water, and Anakin didn’t have a word for the Force.

Obi-wan’s breathing slowed even more. He felt distant. Anakin didn’t know how to follow him, so he gave up and watched the fake-sun glinting off the fake-lake instead. These people were so rich they had an actual fake lake with birds and fish and stuff. They had so much water that they could use gallons and gallons and gallons to make something pretty for fish to piss in. It was crazy.

He wondered how long Obi-wan was going to just sit here. It seemed like kind of a waste of time, but it was comfortable, at least. The fake sun was nice. Mom would love this.

He let his eyes drift shut, and tried again to follow Obi-wan. He could sense his new master’s heart beating, the air rushing through his lungs, the blood flowing through his veins. But his mind was distant- not closed off, just far away. Deep down, in the oceanic depths of his brain.

Or maybe that was the Force? Anakin couldn’t tell anymore. It was easy, back home. He sensed people and animals and flurries of wind through the sand. He sensed ghosts and spirits and shadows of the past and sometimes the future. One of the old grandmothers had told him he had the Shine about him. She said the world was dark but some people were bright, and she said that Anakin Shined brightest of all she knew.

 But here, the air itself seemed bright.

A Shine. Obi-wan had a Shine. So did the kids playing down the beach, and so did the water and the air and the jerky old masters and all of Obi-wan’s friends. The whole place Shined. And maybe that was the Force.

Anakin had to admit, it felt good. He could breathe easier here, and not just because there wasn’t hot sand scorching his lungs. He felt freer, his mind able to stretch like he’d never been able to back home. He didn’t have to be afraid here- he could settle, relax, let himself Shine brighter than the Temple itself-

-he glimpsed the stars beyond Coruscant’s atmosphere- too fast, too scary- the galaxy rushed past and he was lost-

Obi-wan jerked him back to his body so hard that it felt physical, but neither of them had moved.

“Peace, young one,” he murmured. His voice was soft, but still shocking to hear aloud. “I told you, no brain boiling. Stay with me.” He reached back and took Anakin’s hand, linking their fingers together. It formed a physical anchor- Anakin clung tight to him.

This time, Anakin marked to Obi-wan, drifting in the shallows of the Force rather than diving into the depths. Ripples brushed against him- Jedi moving about the Temple, the birds hunting in the muck nearby, the kids playing down the beach. He felt them all, but mostly he felt Obi-wan as a shining presence beside him.

Anakin wasn’t sure what the point of the exercise was. He held still for a few more minutes, but then one of the birds squawked. He reached out with his mind, brushing against its small presence, and it squawked angrily then flew away, feathers beating furiously.

He shifted his attention to a big fish half buried in the mud. It was cool and relaxed, well-fed by its Jedi caretakers. It even seemed slightly aware, considering Anakin before dismissing him. He’d been dismissed by a fish.

Anakin pulled himself from the water, then moved upwards. A lizard clung to a tree branch overhead, with a tiny spine of feathers. Anakin could feel its tiny awareness- it was unafraid, sticky feet holding it safely to rough bark. He drew back to Obi-wan, trying not to disturb him too much, then reached out further.

One of the Jedi kids down the beach shrieked in delight at something. Anakin hovered, then brushed against her mind.

She froze, her light darkening as her shields tightened against him. The laughter stopped.

“Stay with me,” Obi-wan said aloud, squeezing Anakin’s hand.

A moment later, there was a splash, and another shriek as they started playing again. Anakin opened his eyes and shot a glare towards the back of Obi-wan’s head. “You can feel what I do?”

“You’re very loud.” Obi-wan shifted, releasing Anakin’s hand and stretching his arms upwards. Then he half turned, one knee drawing to his chest. “But you did better than I did at your age. I could sit still and breathe, but I could never become one with the Force like you can.”

“What does that even mean, one with the Force?” Anakin turned to face Obi-wan, folding his legs. Obi-wan turned too. They sat face to face, knees touching.

“Well,” Obi-wan said slowly. “The Force is everything. It’s an energy field. It surrounds us, pene-”

“No, I got that much,” Anakin interrupted. “Qui-gon explained that part to me. I mean, like, when you say one with the Force, what do you mean?”

Obi-wan considered that for a moment, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his knee. Anakin waited.

“Well,” Obi-wan finally said. “And this… I’m sure it’s different for every Jedi. But I think of it as a sort of conduit. The Force is always there, flowing from the past to the future and back again. And I am in the present. So if I let myself become quiet, I become just another piece of… you said you were a mechanic? Like a wire, I suppose, if the Force is the flow of electricity. I can feel the current and let my own emotions flow with it.” He tilted his head. “I don’t know if that makes sense. I’m new at teaching. You’ll have to bear with bad metaphors until I talk with some of the teachers about good explanations.”

“No, I get that.” Anakin bit his lip, considering. “But like, the future?”

Obi-wan grimaced. “Sometimes.”

“No, like, sometimes I have dreams that come true,” Anakin said. “So I believe you. Not a lot though. More when I was little. Do you know the future then? Can you read it?” He held out a palm to Obi-wan. “Or do you use tea leaves?”

Obi-wan snorted, but traced one of the lines on Anakin’s hand. “I predict that the commissary is serving rascherry pie tonight,” he said, dropping his voice to a low and mysterious level. “And that we’re going to get dinner soon. Come on.” He got up, gauged the distance, then sprang from the rock to the shore so his feet wouldn’t get wet again.

Anakin had no idea how to make that kind of jump without a running start, so he just scoffed and waded through the water instead.

…

“Master?”

At the query, Qui-gon woke instantly. Obi-wan didn’t try to wake him unless there was an emergency. Hearing his padawan address him in his sleep started an immediate reaction in his brain, though it took him a second to remember he was in the Halls of Healing and not on a mission or in his own bed.

“Obi-wan?” He shifted, grunting at the stiffness in his body, then glanced at the chrono on the wall. “It’s the middle of the night, Padawan.”

Obi-wan waved a dismissive hand. “It isn’t that late. You’re just old. Anyways, Master Che’s shift ended twenty minutes ago, so there was nobody to stop me from coming. How are you feeling?”

Qui-gon chose to ignore the jibe, but it soothed his anxieties. The dream-image of Obi-wan was stuck in his brain, doe-eyed and hurt. But the real Obi-wan insulted him, then smirked at his own joke, then focused back on the topic he’d come for.

“Better, Padawan.” He pulled himself up, wincing at the movement. Obi-wan darted forward, hands outstretched, but Qui-gon waved him off. He was not so broken that he needed his padawan to help him sit up. “Certainly not as well as I would prefer, but I plan to get out of this bed tomorrow.” He smiled grimly. “That is, if Vokara doesn’t tie me down.”

The corner of Obi-wan’s mouth twitched in an involuntary grimace. “Patience, Master. You will not heal any faster by pushing yourself beyond your limits.”

On the surface it was a rebuke, but Obi-wan’s presence was laser-focused on Qui-gon in a heady mix of worry and fondness. But there were more emotions beyond that when Qui-gon probed deeper. A sense of satisfaction and happiness, the warmth of friendship, the ever-present undercurrent of anxiety-

Obi-wan shook his head, pushing Qui-gon back to the surface. “I’m fine, Master,” he said. “But I came to tell you that, I spoke to the Council this morning, and…” He trailed off, dropping his gaze. “They decided that they should…”

“Mace told me,” Qui-gon said. He took a breath. “They’re knighting you without the Trials. That is a great honor, Obi-wan.”

Obi-wan flushed and ducked his head. “I told them I didn’t need to skip-“

“It’s an honor you earned,” Qui-gon interrupted, holding up a hand. “No knight has skipped the Trials in-“

“So many years,” Obi-wan said, voice cracking with nerves. He cleared his throat. “It was just a fight, Master. I’ve fought other Dark Siders before.” He tugged at the hems of his cloak sleeves. “I have to be knighted for Anakin- and I do think I am ready.” A shadow of doubt crossed his face, but he shook it off. “But skipping the Trials?”

Kriffing hells, did Obi-wan truly not comprehend the enormity of what he’d done? Qui-gon wanted to throw his hands in the air. This was his fault- for most of the mission, Qui-gon had been distracted by the Chosen One. Obi-wan had had to prove himself yet again.

“The Sith defeated me,” Qui-gon said quietly. “I was near death, Obi-wan. But you kept your head about you. You were focused. Your anger did not define you. The Dark Side was strong there but you did not sink to that level. You... rose above.” He fell quiet for a moment, then added, “As you have always done.”

Obi-wan grimaced. “I simply did my job, Master. I am a Jedi. I fight the Sith.”

Qui-gon sucked in a breath. “Padawan, while that is true in theory, the Sith have been extinct for over a thousand years. Yoda and I could not truly prepare you for something that we have not faced ourselves. You faced a trial with no preparation and you passed it with flying colors. I failed it, Padawan, and I am a master.”

Obi-wan hummed doubtfully, a tone that sounded distinctly like Yoda.

Qui-gon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted to tell Obi-wan to set aside his anxieties and accept the honor, but he suspected his padawan would ignore the advice. 

“I... made a mistake on this mission,” Qui-gon said. “I was distracted by the Chosen One, and I recommended you for the Trials without forethought.”

Obi-wan winced. “Anakin does need to be trained. I agreed with you-“

“And you have kept to that agreement,” Qui-gon said. “I know about your ultimatum, Padawan.”

Obi-wan froze, eyes wide. “You... Master Windu told you?” Then he rallied, leaning forward. “You must understand, I don’t want to leave. But if it was between the Jedi and Anakin...” his jaw tightened. “I promised Anakin I would teach him. I would not break that promise for anything- but it does not matter.” He let out a breath. “They gave me permission to train him when I am knighted.”

Qui-gon swallowed hard. That promise- between a teacher and a student- was sacred to the Jedi. It was a promise that Obi-wan had fought for time and time again. It was a promise that Anakin would never have reason to doubt, because Obi-wan would throw away his entire career to keep it.

And Qui-gon had swept Obi-wan aside in the middle of a mission. For good reason, yes, but he had broken Obi-wan’s trust yet again.

“He’s sleeping now,” Obi-wan said when Qui-gon remained silent. “I tired him out today. I don’t know how long I will be able to do that- he’s very energetic.” He tilted his head. “But we will work well together, I think. I have a good feeling about us. I know I am too young and he is too old but when we meditated, we did connect for a brief moment. His focus needs work but with time I am confident-”

“You will be a great master,” Qui-gon interrupted. “I would offer to take him back under my wing, but I sense that you have made up your mind on taking Anakin as your padawan.”

Obi-wan drew in a breath, then nodded. “It feels right,” he said, and there was no question in his tone. “I think I am meant to teach him, just as you were meant to teach me.”

Qui-gon smiled lightly. “You don’t have to convince me, Padawan. I know the two of you…”

Something flickered in the corner of his vision like an eyelash catching the light. He turned his head, but it was only the two of them.

Obi-wan stepped forward, quizzical. Qui-gon shook himself. “I know you will be great together,” he finished.

I killed him.

Together, would they be great, or terrible? Both? Qui-gon tried to push the vision from his mind, but the face of Vader grinned in his consciousness, red-eyed and scarred. Great or terrible, Obi-wan had already claimed the boy. Qui-gon could sense his determination shining within him, a promise that would not be broken even for the Order he called his family.

And Anakin was not yet Vader.

And Obi-wan had never been Xanatos.

The only constant was that Qui-gon was a damn fool, clinging to attachments from the past and refusing to acknowledge the talented young man standing before him. Obi-wan was willingly taking on a responsibility that even the Council was avoiding because Qui-gon himself had proven too weak.

“I don’t deserve you,” Qui-gon murmured.

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow. One corner of his mouth raised in a slight smirk. It was a fond but derisive expression, one that Qui-gon was used to from his apprentice. It meant that Obi-wan thought he was speaking harmless nonsense, like a respected but slightly batty elder. “Master, I hardly resent you for asking me to train the boy. I would have done the same-”

“No, Obi-wan.” Qui-gon held up a hand. “You would not have, nor would you declare your padawan ready for knighthood without first consulting his feelings on the matter.”

The air seemed to drop several degrees. Obi-wan’s expression darkened, eyebrow quirking higher. “We don’t need to do this now, Master,” he said in a polite, but firm tone. “I am to be knighted. I am ready to be knighted. However it came about is insignificant next to the fact that I killed a Sith Lord.” He tucked his hands into his opposite sleeves. “And while I may have initially agreed to train Anakin because you asked, we have bonded, even in this short time. It may have started as a promise to you, but it became a promise to him.”

“Obi-wan, I am trying to apolo-”

“I don’t want to do this now.” Obi-wan spat the words, polite mask dropping for a moment. Frustration and hurt flared in the Force, only to be quickly stamped back into politic-ready order.

Qui-gon stared at him. He didn’t know whether to reach for the boy, or what words to say, or if he was supposed to chastise him for the momentary loss of control.

“It’s fine,” Obi-wan said, flicking his head so his braid fell down his back rather than on his shoulder. “I understand your reasoning, Master. I would make the same choice, if it were between Anakin and myself. It’s in the past. You always say to focus on the present. And the present is fine. But if you would excuse me, I don’t want Anakin to wake up and not know where I am.”

He turned and left, shutting the door gently behind him. Too gently- the latch didn’t catch and it swung back open a few centimeters, but Obi-wan had already vanished down the hall.

“Well, that certainly didn’t go over well,” Vader said from where he lounged in one of the visitor chairs, smirking and glowing blue. He reached out with his foot to nudge the door shut, though by all means he shouldn’t have even existed, let alone possess the power to manipulate the physical world.

Qui-gon stiffened, but did not immediately shout for some explanation. Jedi did not retain their identity upon death- they became one with the Force (or at least, no Jedi had come back to show the living otherwise). But there were accounts of the Sith maintaining some sense of themselves, and there was always the possibility that Qui-gon had simply lost it.

“He’s pissed,” Vader said, and whistled. “I mean, not as pissed as he got with me sometimes. Only I’m the ultimate master at pushing Obi-wan’s buttons. But seriously, you chose me over him?” He straightened up, pointing to himself and then to the door. “You chose junk rat slave boy over Mr. Perfect Jedi? I knew you were awesome, but I didn’t realize you were crazy too.

“I mean, I guess I was there,” Vader continued, sitting back and crossing one leg over the other in a manner a bit too similar to Obi-wan for comfort. “But gimme a break. I was nine. I had no idea what was going on. Besides, it’s been a while.”

“Why are you here?” Qui-gon asked, ignoring Vader’s chatting.

Vader raised an eyebrow. “Would you believe me if I said I was your conscience?”

Qui-gon gave the spirit a deadpan look.

Vader rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m here to save Ben. Happy?”

“Ben… Obi-wan?” Although, it seemed odd for this version of Anakin to call Obi-wan Ben. It was just a common name, used for missions when he didn’t want to be identified. He used to switch undercover names, showing only a slight favoring towards Ben, but then Satine said she thought it suited him.

“Nah.” He waved a hand. “Just named after him. I can’t tell you more, because space time might get warped-”

“A son?” Qui-gon asked, not much caring about whatever laws this ghost was following. “Or… a grandson. You’re from the distant future, aren’t you, Anakin?”

He could tell from Vader’s grimace that he was correct. The question was whether this Ben was a Skywalker or a Kenobi. Qui-gon supposed it didn’t technically matter who broke the Code to beget a child in the future, but it certainly was cause for curiosity.

“Okay, look.” Vader held up a finger. “I want to save the kid, not cause him to never be born. You're alive. I can change that. So you don’t ask stupid questions. Got it?”

“Are you threatening me, Anakin?” Qui-gon straightened up, fixing the spirit with a stern glare.

Vader’s expression shifted from mild amusement to a glower that chilled Qui-gon. He raised a hand.

It happened so delicately that Qui-gon coughed once before realizing his throat was closing. He gasped, chest spasming.

Anakin, he mouthed, reaching for the invisible noose around his neck. The Force was cold. It slipped away when he reached for it.

The heartrate monitor started beeping staccato as Qui-gon grit his teeth, trying to summon the Force to fight the spirit.

The door flew open and the choke lifted. “Master Jinn?” Padawan Cortana dashed in, checking the monitor then turning to Qui-gon. “Are you alright?”

Qui-gon gasped, glaring towards the chair. The spirit had vanished.

“Master Jinn?” Ells reached out to shake his shoulder. His braid tickled Qui-gon’s cheek. “Are you here with me?”

Qui-gon sucked in another breath of air, then turned. “I am fine, Ells,” he said, waving off the padawan. “It was a dream, nothing more.”

Ells stepped back, then picked up the datapad. He studied it for a second. “You were awake,” he said, only a little accusatory. “And I know you were talking to Kenobi. He’s slippery, but he doesn’t know where the security cameras are.”

“It was nothing, Ells.” Qui-gon fixed the youth with a hard glare. “I am not dying. I won’t ruin your writeup of my case.”

Ells blinked. “I’m not- It’s all anonymous. Your name is never in it.”

Qui-gon raised an eyebrow.

“You’re my final project before I’m knighted,” Ells admitted, ducking his head so Qui-gon wouldn’t see the pride in his eyes. “I was the one who got the pressure off your spinal cord so you wouldn’t be paralyzed.” He glanced up, eyes shining.

Oh. That was a bit more serious than Qui-gon had realized. “Thank you, Padawan,”

Ells took a moment to preen in his accomplishment, then turned serious once again. “You’re sure you’re feeling alright?”

Qui-gon nodded. “You have more access to my body than I do,” he said, picking up his arm and showing Ells one of his IVs. “If anything truly happens to me, you will know before I do. Now please, Padawan, I would like to go back to sleep.”

Ells took another look at the datapad hanging off Qui-gon’s bed, then bowed and left. No doubt he would be staring at Qui-gon’s monitors from the station down the hall, but Qui-gon didn’t care.

He closed his eyes, wondering if Vader or Obi-wan would return. Neither did, and eventually he drifted back to sleep.

…

“I have multiple scholarly sources here that state that a patient should walk as soon as possible after surgery,” Qui-gon said. He’d already half gotten up, one foot touching the cold floor.

Vokara’s face was stony. Her lekku practically vibrated with her dissatisfaction. “You are not getting out of that bed, Master Jinn. Your stitches are too new and-”

“And I am looking at a medication list that includes blood thinners,” Qui-gon said, gesturing towards his datapad. “As the patient in question, I have the right to make my wishes-”

“You are a Jedi,” Vokara snapped. “And I am the Jedi healer. You do not have the experience to read your own scans, nor do you have my pass codes to access-”

“Obi-wan saw you type in your password,” Qui-gon said. He turned so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. The floor was cold beneath his feet. Sitting upright, without the support of the pillows, made him feel a bit shaky. But, nutrition and hydration-wise, he had never been better. Maybe he couldn’t eat or drink by mouth, but he knew the tubes going into him sustained him at heathier levels than many missions. “He shared that knowledge with me.”

Vokara grit her teeth. “You are not on a mission, Jinn. You are in the Temple. You do not need to send your padawan to spy on me.”

“And you do not need to add more drugs to my system when I could solve the problem simply by walking!” Qui-gon straightened his back.

He had reached a conundrum. He knew that he would fall if he walked by himself- his core was too weak. He hadn’t been down enough for his muscles to degrade, but he certainly didn’t feel steady. (A piece of him was afraid that unsteadiness was from the damage to his spinal cord, though none of the healers had explicitly brought up long term effects with him yet.) As much as he needed to get out of bed, he also did not want to be picked up off the ground.

Obi-wan would certainly spot him if asked. Obi-wan had offered, when he and Anakin had visited that morning.

(Qui-gon had not tried to bring up his botched apology again, and Obi-wan had acted as though the conversation had never happened.)

Anakin had been nervous around him- Qui-gon didn’t blame the boy. Hospital visits weren’t fun.

But even in the short, slightly stilted conversation, Qui-gon could see how the boys- his boys- had bonded. No longer did Anakin glance towards Qui-gon for permission to speak or do something. Now he looked to Obi-wan. And Obi-wan fell into the role naturally. His nods to Anakin were paired with a small but warm smile, and more often than not, he rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. They already ribbed each other, though their insults were still tentative as they felt each other out.

But the Force sang around them.

Obi-wan was the bass, a steady heartbeat, and Anakin the melody, flying high and pure and sometimes just a bit discordant, only for Obi-wan’s low tune to shift key in response. Qui-gon could already sense the ripples as they communicated with each other- not words and concepts yet; it was too soon for anything as specific as that. But he sensed the flickers of emotion, both through his bond with Obi-wan and his own budding connection with Anakin.

And there was a connection there. As soon as Anakin walked into the room, they locked eyes, and he felt the boy’s relief at his being okay. Anakin had some instinctive shields- most force sensitives did- but he didn’t try to push Qui-gon away, and he was as brilliant as Qui-gon remembered.

For a jealous moment unbecoming of a Jedi, Qui-gon considered reclaiming the boy as his own padawan.

But it was only a half-second, and Qui-gon shoved the thought from his mind. Obi-wan cracked a dry, sarcastic joke. Anakin elbowed him. And then the two grinned at each other, and Qui-gon felt both excluded and like he was witnessing something joyous, like family reunited.

No, he would not train Anakin. Whatever the future may hold, stepping between Anakin and Obi-wan would be a betrayal of both his boys, as well as disobeying the will of the Force itself. But not being Anakin’s master didn’t mean he wouldn’t be involved. Obi-wan would be knighted, but Qui-gon was still his master. That would not end with the severing of his braid.

Obi-wan had offered to help Qui-gon walk, Vokara’s opinion be damned. Qui-gon took only a moment to bask in Obi-wan’s loyalty before refusing. His recovery was not Obi-wan’s responsibility. Besides, Qui-gon had pointed out, Padawan Cortana was using him as a case study. Let him do the work.

Obi-wan had scoffed at that. “Ells? He cheated in Intro to Astro back when we were initiates. He shared the answers of the test with everyone except for me. Then I was reprimanded for having the lowest grade in the class.”

Anakin had turned sharply. “Why didn’t you say he was cheating?”

Obi-wan opened his mouth, then closed it, then glanced guiltily at Qui-gon. “I studied harder to bring my grade up myself,” he said. “The rest of the class would ultimately suffer for cheating and not learning the material, but now I still remember the lessons I learned.”

Qui-gon highly doubted that Obi-wan actually retained any Intro Astro lessons, but as he didn’t remember them either, he supposed he couldn’t call his padawan out on the lecture. More likely, Obi-wan had kept his mouth shut so he wouldn’t be labeled a snitch. But whether Ells had cheated when he was twelve or not, it didn’t matter. Let the medical padawan see his weakness when he tried to walk. He didn’t want to see his weakness reflected in Obi-wan’s eyes.

But when Anakin and Obi-wan left for the day (Obi-wan’s plan was to show Anakin a few beginner lightsaber katas to burn off some of his energy, then start working with the Basic alphabet), Qui-gon had asked Ells to help him. Ells, apparently a teacher’s pet now, had gone to ask Vokara first.

And now Vokara stood irate before him, a slender twi-lek who seemed to think that Qui-gon was trying to kill himself by walking.

“You were gravely injured, Qui-gon,” Vokara said. “I don’t think you truly understand-”

“I have read over my charts,” Qui-gon said, gesturing again to the datapad. “Despite my injuries, I survived. And I would prefer to spend this second chance on my feet and not in this bed. I am not dying.”

“And if you fall?” Vokara raised a derisive brow. “It takes one wrong move to rip out a stitch. Blood will flood your abdominal cavity. You will go into shock and die before any of us can help you.”

“Only because it won’t clot since you put me on-”

“What is the real issue here, Qui-gon?” Her anger suddenly melted. Her eyes bored into him, stern but compassionate. It made him want to squirm away guiltily, but he held his ground. “Is it simple restlessness, or something deeper?”

He considered snapping at her, then closed his mouth. He was a master, after all, even if he didn’t feel like it at the moment.

She remained silent, patient, waiting for his answer.

Qui-gon took a breath, looking within himself. There was restlessness, yes. He lived an active life, and just laying here was making him anxious to move. But deeper down, he knew the reason he needed to walk.

Obi-wan was to be knighted. Qui-gon would not witness that from a chair. He would stand with the Council as Yoda severed his braid, and he would be the first to embrace Obi-wan as a brother in the Force.

And he would do that on his feet.

He opened his eyes. “I must support my padawan,” he said. “He wishes to be knighted when I am able to attend, and I will not have his ceremony postponed for my weakness.”

The healer studied him. For a moment, Qui-gon thought she would refuse. Then she inclined her head.

“I respect your wishes,” she said, though her tone was pinched with disapproval. “With the proper precautions, I will allow Padawan Cortana to begin physical therapy. Light physical therapy.”

“That is all I ask,” Qui-gon said. Then, because he was the model patient, he lay back against the pillows and let her go about her tests for the day. Later, Ells would spot him while he did a weak lap around the room, and within the next few days, he would see Obi-wan knighted.

When he was alone, blue light flickered at the edge of his vision. He paid no attention to the specter of the future. Life happened in the here and now.

Chapter Text

Obi-wan knelt in the center of the meditation room, head bowed, hands resting on his knees. Morning light fell through the slatted window. One strip of it fell diagonally across the padawan’s face, illuminating one eye, the bridge of his nose, the faint freckles on one cheek.

He did not stir when Yoda stepped in, though he did tense slightly. Yoda felt Obi-wan’s awareness brush against him and then fall away respectfully- the Force equivalent of a blind man touching someone’s face to see who they were and then stepping back. But Obi-wan did not raise his head, or open his eyes. He remained where he knelt.

The meditative vigil lasted the entire night before the ceremony. Obi-wan would have arrived in the tower meditation room at dusk the night before and sunk into the Force. He was supposed to reflect on the lessons of his apprenticeship and how those would impact his calling as a knight.

“Long have I taught you, Obi-wan,” Yoda said. He made his slow way across the room to stand directly before the padawan. “Only a heartbeat ago, a child you were. A Jedi, you now are.”

Obi-wan took the invitation to open his eyes. His expression chilled Yoda- the boy looked old and tired. There were dark circles under his eyes. Yoda could sense his headache in the Force.

“Visions, you have had.” Yoda didn’t need to ask about that. He had visions himself, and he often mentored the younger Jedi who shared that burden.

“Nothing is certain except for the here and now,” Obi-wan replied. His voice was rough from the night without speaking. He cleared his throat, moving for the first time to cough into his elbow.

Yoda grunted. “Qui-gon’s wisdom, that is. What say you, Obi-wan?”

He dreaded the answer. He knew himself what Obi-wan would say. The dark side formed a shroud. It was growing thicker by the day- it had been for some time, subtle enough that Yoda hadn’t first noticed. Like slow poison, it leached through the Force, curling around their senses and choking off their intuition.

He suspected Obi-wan had been the first to really notice. When he was a youngling, they’d thought his crying to be separation anxiety from his family, and brought him home to visit. Let him see that they were still alive, that they wanted him to be trained as a Jedi. That he could choose to return to them if that was what he truly desired.

But that had not been the problem. The child had been happy to play with his brother in the highlands of Stewjon, but he had shown little affection towards his mother, nor she towards him. Yoda suspected that, had the brother been Force-sensitive, they would have had the matched set. The mother had not been interested in being a mother, and the father had been more interested in where his next drink was coming from.

No, it had not been separation anxiety that kept young Obi-wan awake at night, but rather senses from the Force. The growing darkness, glimpses of the future, a sense of something wrong that a youngling didn’t have the vocabulary to explain. Yoda had worked with him, teaching the boy to separate himself from these feelings. As he grew, he stopped disturbing his age mates, stopped waking in the middle of the night, stopped crying over the anxiety. He grew up quickly, quicker even when he became a padawan.

Now it was not a boy who knelt in the meditation room, but a man- a young man, inexperienced and still with much to learn, but a man nonetheless.

“The Force is dark, Master Yoda,” Obi-wan said, bowing his head again. “I… saw nothing specific. Violence. Bloodshed. But no context. No individual faces, except…” He trailed off.

Yoda’s heart dropped. The last of his hope- hope that perhaps he was mistaken in his interpretations of the Force, fell away. He waited for Obi-wan to grapple with his own thoughts and finish his statement. Whatever- Whomever he had seen- must have upset him.

“Anakin,” Obi-wan finally said.

No, he was not actually upset. The corner of his mouth tensed as he suppressed a smile. “I saw Anakin. He was older, and dressed as a Jedi Padawan, and carrying a lightsaber. He stood at my side.”

Yoda smacked Obi-wan’s leg with his stick and turned away, ignoring the surprised yelp. “Gloat, a Jedi does not, Obi-wan.”

“I am not gloating!” Obi-wan’s voice rose, then fell back to its normal pitch. “You have always taught me to follow the will of the Force. And it is the will of the Force that he be trained.”

The will of the Force, or the will of Qui-gon Jinn? Both were formidable. And, sometimes, Yoda himself could not tell the difference. If he could not tell, he doubted that Obi-wan could.

“Train the boy you will,” Yoda agreed. He wasn’t happy about it, but he knew he couldn’t stop it anymore than he could stop the sun from rising. “But young he is. Classes he must take. Catch up on his education, he will. A young knight you are, and assignments we will have for you outside of this responsibility.”

“I understand.” Obi-wan bowed his head again, but he had not been cowed. Yoda could still feel his triumph, though it was masked by heavy shields.

He sighed and turned away again, dropping the matter of Anakin.

“Your visions,” he said, circling back to the topic at hand. “Haunt you, they do?”

The sense of triumph vanished in the Force, replaced with worry. “They don’t haunt me, per se,” he said. “It has been some time since I’ve had a clear vision. What I saw last night was more… fragmental.”

Yoda turned back, hearing the troubled tone.

“The Dark Side is stronger now, Master.” Obi-wan took a deep breath. “I’ve always felt it, on the periphery, but since facing the Sith…” he tilted his head. “There has been a shift. And I do believe Anakin is part of that. He is Light where the Sith was Dark. Chosen One or not, I believe we were meant to find him now.”

It was what Yoda himself had felt, concerning the Darkness, though he wasn’t so sure about Anakin’s involvement. It seemed to him that the boy was more a simple anomaly than anything else. Qui-gon collected beings that had nobody else- he had friends scattered across the galaxy. Obi-wan himself had appealed to that part of his nature. Anakin was no different.

But the rising of the Dark was concerning.

“And your place?” Yoda asked. “Where stand you in this dire future?”

Obi-wan blinked. A flash of panic crossed his face. “With the Jedi, of course,” he said. His nose crinkled. “Where else would I be?”

Where else indeed? Obi-wan had left once, long ago, but he had learned his lesson and learned it well. Yoda knew they could trust him. Other members of the Council may have doubted, but Yoda knew where Obi-wan’s heart lay.

He hadn’t said it aloud, but when he heard about Obi-wan’s trial on Mandalore, he had been pleased. Obi-wan had tasted life outside the Order, with a woman and a potential for family and a world that could have happily used his skills. He had turned it down. That was proof enough of his loyalty.

The question had flustered Obi-wan though. His eyes fixed on Yoda, glittering bright in the gloom. His anxieties leached into the Force, tainting it. “I am sorry I threatened to leave,” he said. “I believe in Anakin. It was an inappropriate-”

“Inappropriate, yes.” Yoda sighed. “And yet true. Strong in the Force you are, Obi-wan. Wise, you are, beyond your years. If whispers to you, the Force does, then heed it you must. Even if approve, I do not.”

Obi-wan opened his mouth, then closed it, sucking in a breath. “Thank you, Master.”

Yoda grunted. “Thank me not. Your burden, this will be.”

Obi-wan didn’t like that, though he did his best to smooth over his mind. Yoda sighed. He agreed privately with Mace that Obi-wan was not quite ripe for knighthood, but what choice did they have? The new Chancellor was pressuring them; Qui-gon had been gravely injured; Obi-wan himself had performed a feat unheard of for thousands of years. Not to mention that Obi-wan had been manipulating the Council from the start. In threatening to leave with Anakin, he had forced their hand. And the boy was too clever a manipulator to not know what he had done.

“Doubt you, I do not.” Yoda leaned heavily on his stick. “Trained you from boyhood, I have, and know you I do. But happy, the Council is not. Walking in Qui-gon Jinn’s footsteps, you are.”

“My master is wise in the ways of the Force,” Obi-wan replied. But he still shifted. “But I understand.”

“Wise, Qui-gon is,” Yoda agreed. “Willful as well. Of your attachment to him, mindful you must be.”

Obi-wan opened his mouth to object, but Yoda held up a hand to silence him. “A weakness, attachments are,” he continued. “And this weakness you possess. Mind it, you must, as into knighthood you go. Cloud your mind, attachments will. An inner battle this will be, for your entire life.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Thank you, Master. I will heed your advice.”

Yoda waited a moment for the words to sink in. Then he tapped his stick against Obi-wan’s leg, gentler this time. “A Jedi, you will be. And a master as well. A great responsibility this will be.”

It was a responsibility that Yoda hoped Obi-wan could handle.

“Go now,” Yoda told him. “Prepare, you must.”

…

They’d moved Qui-gon to a nicer room. This one felt less like people dying and more peaceful. A fake window showed an image of a meadow on some distant planet, with a breeze rustling gently through the grasses. The walls were painted in soft pastels. A large pot with a plant spilling flowers dominated the corner.

Qui-gon was pissed he still had to be here. Anakin could sense it, radiating off him, but he didn’t comment. He just sat on the edge of the room and stared down at the Basic workbook that Obi-wan had gotten for him. None of the letters made sense, but Qui-gon was meditating, sitting cross-legged on the floor, so Anakin didn’t want to interrupt. He doodled on the edge of the flimsi pages instead, mapping out the specs of Threepio’s circuits. Maybe he would try to make another one sometime, if he could get the parts. Then Mom’s droid could have a brother.

He felt the shift- no, he felt the Force, he had to use the right Jedi words for his senses- when Obi-wan approached. He grinned and hopped up, unlocking the door so Obi-wan could just walk in.

Qui-gon opened one eye. “Going somewhere, Anakin?” Then he blinked. “Ah, Obi-wan is returning.”

“Yeah.”

Qui-gon stood- slowly, grabbing the edge of the bed for support. Anakin offered an arm to help him, but he waved it away.

Obi-wan walked in. He paused in the doorway and studied Anakin for a long moment, so long that Anakin wondered if there was dirt on his face or something. Then he turned towards Qui-gon.

“You shouldn’t be trying to walk around without help,” he said.

Qui-gon grunted. “Don’t lecture me, Obi-wan. You’re still my apprentice for another few hours. I can walk without assistance.”

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow, then waved Anakin aside and collapsed in the chair. He grunted, then leaned over and rolled up his pant leg. A fresh bruise already darkened his shin. He poked at it and hissed.

“Yoda got to you, I see,” Qui-gon said mildly, sitting on the edge of his bed. “What did you do to earn that?”

“I had a vision last night,” Obi-wan replied, hiding the bruise again. He turned towards Anakin. “You were older, and you carried a lightsaber.”

“Wizard,” Anakin said. “Why’d Yoda hit you for that?”

Obi-wan and Qui-gon’s eyes met over Anakin’s head. He sighed. The adults thought they were slick, but Anakin wasn’t an idiot. “Oh. He still doesn’t want you to teach me?”

“They allowed it,” Obi-wan said flatly.

“But they aren’t happy about it.” Anakin shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ve got you guys anyways. What were we doing in your vision?”

Obi-wan shook his head. “Nothing more substantial than that. Everything else was… vague. Dark.” His gaze flicked back to Qui-gon. “The future is shrouded.”

Anakin could sense their wordless communication, though he couldn’t ascertain the meaning. A second later, Obi-wan got up and moved across the room to sit on the bed beside Qui-gon.

“Don’t center on your anxieties, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon said, not unkindly. “The future is uncertain in the best of times. The only surety is the here and now.”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-wan glanced back towards Anakin.

“You are a good Jedi.” Qui-gon reached out and tugged lightly on Obi-wan’s braid to pull his attention back. “And you will be a good master as well. The Force knows you’ve had enough practice lecturing me.”

Obi-wan took a breath. “I am ready.”

“Yes, you are.” 

They sat in silence for a moment. Anakin lingered on the edge of the room. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be here or not. It felt like a private moment, and for a second he was jealous- blindingly so. They were acting like this was goodbye, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t as though Obi-wan would never see Qui-gon again. But Anakin actually had to say goodbye to his mother.

And he’d never see her again.

Qui-gon tentatively reached out with one arm, wrapping it around Obi-wan’s shoulders. Obi-wan tensed, then reciprocated, falling heavy against Qui-gon’s chest.

They hugged each other, and Anakin glared at his feet.

He didn’t even get why they were sad about Obi-wan getting knighted. It was stupid.

A hand touched his cheek, a cool presence brushed against his mind. He looked up and realized that Obi-wan had knelt in front of him without his noticing. “Anakin?”

Anakin shook Obi-wan’s hand away from his face. “Nothing,” he said, and he knew Obi-wan could kind of read his mind too, and that made it worse. He couldn’t hide.

Obi-wan dropped his hand to his side. “What’s bothering you?”

No, he couldn’t say, because he was supposed to forget Mom. He didn’t want to ruin Obi-wan’s day because he couldn’t do what the Jedi told him. “I want to be a good Jedi,” he finally said, looking away. It was sort of the truth. “I wanna be good enough for you.”

“You are good enough.” Obi-wan touched his face again, cupping his cheek. “You are allowed to be overwhelmed, Ani. It’s okay. A lot has happened in a short stretch of time.”

He tilted his head against Obi-wan’s hand, hoping that was true.

“Things will calm down after today,” Obi-wan promised. “It will be easier when you settle into a routine.” He glanced over his shoulder at Qui-gon, who nodded encouragingly.

Then he straightened up and picked up the workbook from the side table. “I have an hour before I should get ready. How far did you get on this?”

Anakin huffed, hugging his arms around himself. “Do you actually wanna teach me when you’re so busy?”

“I’m not too busy for you,” Obi-wan said, folding into one of the chairs and crossing his legs. He flipped it open, tilting his head as he studied Anakin’s drawings.

Anakin suddenly regretted doodling instead of working. He hoped Obi-wan wouldn’t get mad at him for wasting time.

But Obi-wan pursed his lips, then turned it towards Anakin. “What’s this piece?” He asked, pressing a finger to the doodle.

Anakin raised an eyebrow and glanced at Qui-gon. Qui-gon was no help. He just smiled gently and said nothing, watching them. Anakin huffed at him and then sat in the chair next to Obi-wan. “That’s one of the balance modulators,” he said. “There’s one on either side, so he can walk like a person without falling over.”

“I see,” said Obi-wan. Then he flipped through the book until he found a blank page, ripped it out, and reopened it to the drawing. On the blank page, he drew a line, then handed the stylus to Anakin. “We’re going to figure out how to spell ‘balance modulator.’”

Anakin’s jaw dropped. “Obi-wan, I can’t-“

“Yes, Anakin, you can.” Obi-wan elbowed him gently. “Break it down. Balance. What’s the first letter?”

Balance. Anakin thought about it, formed the word in his head. He could recognize the word in Huttese, but it wasn’t a direct translation to Basic, so that was no help.

“It starts with besh,” he said, and drew the letter on the line. “Bal- b-aaa- lll? Aurek?”

“Mmhmm. Good. And the next?” Obi-wan folded his hands in his lap, watching. He didn’t pressure Anakin. He waited for him to sound out the word, writing each letter in his shaky handwriting.

‘Balance’ was easy enough. Modulator gave them a little more trouble, because Obi-wan himself blanked on the spelling. “Mern osk dorn-“ he started, then lost where he was and had to repeat the word very softly under his breath, sounding it out himself.

But Qui-gon, watching them this whole time, thought that was hilarious. Aloud, he only snorted. But his mirth was clear in the Force. Obi-wan made an indignant noise and turned to glare at him.

“Go get ready, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon said, waving a dismissive hand. “I have Anakin well in hand. You can torture him more tomorrow, if you feel up to it.”

“If I feel- why wouldn’t I?” Obi-wan raised an eyebrow.

Qui-gon folded his hands together. His amusement was clear in the Force. “I believe there is a plan to kidnap you from this wretchedly boring party you’re attending tonight,” he said. “I may have been bribed to cover for your inevitable absence.”

Obi-wan stared at him, glanced down at Anakin, then back to Qui-gon. “I can’t leave the event when it’s considered a mission-”

“You can when it’s your own knighthood,” Qui-gon said, inclining his head to Obi-wan. “I am telling you now, in case I don’t get a chance later. When you are dragged away, don’t fight it. Go enjoy yourself, as I did after my own ceremony. I will have the Council well in hand.”

Obi-wan pursed his lips. “Anakin, do not listen to him. He’s a bad influence.”

“You should go get trashed, Obi-wan,” Anakin said, in the most sage, Jedi sort of voice that he could.

“I’m done talking to both of you,” Obi-wan said, standing abruptly.

“Don’t tell Garen or Reeft that I ruined the surprise,” Qui-gon called after him.

…

The Nubian embassy was a tower spanning many levels in the Senatorial district of Coruscant. Flowers from the gardens of Naboo bloomed in every room. Beautiful, hand carved furniture graced the airy spaces. The floors gleamed and the cobwebs had been swept from the ceilings by unseen servants.

It was a beautiful building, but rarely used. The last time she had been on Coruscant, not so long ago, Padmé had not stayed long enough to sleep here. Chancellor Palpatine had his own apartments closer to the Senate building, and so did not use it himself.

Padmé already wore the face paint- she trusted the Chancelor’s security enough to be herself, and she wanted to give Obi-wan that honor. Guests were already beginning to arrive, mingling in the ballroom where servers darted back and forth with trays of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of champagne. She paused on a balcony overlooking them- it looked like the beginnings of a wedding, with the senators in their finest clothes, and a few Jedi in neatly pressed tunics.

Then she continued on. She would join the guests in a moment, but first she wanted to congratulate Obi-wan personally.

They had given him a private room to prepare himself in. Padmè knocked once on the door, waiting for him to bid her entry before opening it.

Obi-wan knelt in the center of the floor, ignoring the window overlooking the Coruscanti skyline and the comfortable couches. Gone were his layers of robes- now he was dressed in simple white linens. He looked smaller without the layers- not small, but smaller. More human, and less aloof Jedi. He'd opened the window, and the room smelled of the smog from the nearby traffic lanes. Padmè could never understand how Coruscanti minded the stink of the city.

“Queen Amidala,” he said, standing. He was barefoot, she realized, and she wondered if that was part of the tradition. Something about purity, perhaps, judging by the whites.

“You may call me Padmè here,” she said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “I came to thank you again for your service to my people, and to congratulate you.”

He bowed his head. “I am a servant to the people of the galaxy.”

“Perhaps, but it came at a great cost,” Padmè replied. “How is Master Jinn?”

“Better now.” Obi-wan fidgeted with his hands, tugging his sleeves down. She remembered him standing just behind Qui-gon with his hands tucked into his opposite sleeves, but the sleeves of the thin tunic he wore now weren’t nearly long enough for that. He settled for folding his hands together. “He fights with the healers. But he is here now, in the ballroom, I suspect.” He tilted his head. “I haven’t seen him since this morning. I’m technically supposed to be alone right now for a last-minute meditation on my vows.”

“You’re- oh! Oh, my apologies.” Padmè stepped back. “I only wanted to give you the good wishes of Naboo.”

He wasn’t angry though. His lips quirked in a small smile. “Thank you, Padmè. I do appreciate it. And to tell the truth, I have spent so much time in meditation over the past few days that I was thinking more about how much my knees hurt than my vows.”

She winced at the thought of it. “Still, I apologize for the interruption.” She stepped back for the door, then hesitated. “Are the ceremonies like this… do outsiders normally attend? I hope we didn’t overstep in planning this celebration. We are truly thankful for what you and Master Jinn and Anakin did for Naboo.”

Obi-wan smiled and bowed his head. “I am honored by your gratitude,” he said, voice warm.

It was a false tone, she immediately knew. His normal tone with her was so professional that it bordered on expressionless. But she didn’t call him out on it, nor did she apologize.

“I will leave you to your meditation,” she said, and closed the door softly behind her.

…

Qui-gon stood at the edge of the ballroom, one hand on Anakin’s shoulder to keep him from fidgeting. He did not have a Jedi’s haircut yet, but he wore a clean tunic and did his best to stand up straight. But he was still an energetic nine year old, and every few moments Qui-gon would feel him tense as something caught his attention.

“Jedi Qui-gon! Meesa so happy to see yousa!”

It was Qui-gon’s turn to tense. “Kriffing hells,” he muttered under his breath, so quiet that nobody would hear.

It was his own fault. Jar Jar had been so pathetic, in need of help, and they had needed a guide. And he had proven himself in battle. But Qui-gon had bitten off more than he could stomach with the Gungan. In a normal world, he would leave Obi-wan to handle it and make himself scarce, then call it a training exercise when Obi-wan got short with him later.

But now Obi-wan had grown up, and Qui-gon had to deal with his own problems. He turned and inclined his head to Jar Jar. “I am happy to see you as well, my friend.”

“Heya Jar Jar,” Anakin said. He shared no such qualms, grinning up at the Gungan. “How’s Naboo?”

“The Naboo issa wonderful,” Jar Jar said cheerfully. “Meesa big general now.” He leaned in closer, conspiratorially. “They forgot meesa banished.”

“Well let’s not remind them,” Qui-gon said.

And then he sensed someone familiar, and it was as good an excuse to leave this conversation as any. “If you will excuse us, I believe the delegation from Mandalore has just arrived,” Qui-gon said. “I should greet them. Congratulations on your official promotion.” He clapped Jar Jar’s shoulder. “You earned it, my friend. Come, Anakin.”

He practically dragged the boy off.

Beside him, Anakin practically vibrated with excitement, his presence blinding Qui-gon for a second before he’d adjusted his shielding. “Mandalore?” He asked, wide-eyed. “I get to meet Obi-wan’s girlfriend?”

Qui-gon had not been walking quickly- he couldn’t, not without moving faster than his damaged nerves could respond and tripping himself. But at the word girlfriend he stumbled and grabbed Anakin’s shoulder and the Force for balance. It was a controlled stumble- nobody outside of another Jedi would have noticed it. Anakin planted himself, happy enough to act as a handrail.

“Did Obi-wan tell you that?” Qui-gon asked, lowering his voice so nobody would hear their conversation.

Anakin shook his head. “No, he said they broke up. But he still likes her. Can’t you tell?”

“Obi-wan is very adept at hiding his feelings,” Qui-gon said through his teeth, glancing in the direction of his padawan. Walls could not prevent him from sensing Obi-wan’s location. “Anakin, that sort of attachment is forbidden for a Jedi.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but that’s stupid. Love’s not gonna mess you up. It keeps people together, even when they get sold or killed or something. You don’t have to be with them to be with them.”

This was not the time nor the place for a lecture on attachment, but it boiled on Qui-gon’s tongue anyways. But this was not his padawan- this was Obi-wan’s. He had already screwed up in recommending Obi-wan for the Trials. While they hadn’t brought it up again, Qui-gon knew that was a blow that had left a mark.

And he could not bear it if Obi-wan became a knight and then just drifted out of his life. It happened between him and his own master. They’d gone for years without talking, then began to exchange some communication when Qui-gon started training Obi-wan. But that resurgence had dwindled too, especially when his old master left the Order. Now, he wasn’t even sure what comm code Dooku answered.

No, he could not let that happen between himself and Obi-wan.

He swallowed the lecture. He would not overstep Obi-wan’s authority with Anakin. He would not give Obi-wan any more reason to resent him. Instead, he would bring up this conversation later, and let Obi-wan handle it as he would.

But it was difficult. He had to take a deep breath, let the lecture dissipate into the Force, before he could look at Anakin again.

“They are not together,” he said. “Duchess Kryze was important to Obi-wan, and I respect her a great deal. But we harbor no attachment towards her.”

“Okay,” Anakin said, and somehow that one word managed to slap Qui-gon in the face.

He swallowed his rebuke and started walking towards the entrance.

Three Mandalorians had walked in- Satine, and two New Mandalore dignitaries whom Qui-gon hadn’t met. Satine looked resplendent in a form-fitted midnight blue gown. Her hair was pulled back in a low twist with lilies secured at intervals that gave the impression of a crown of flowers.

But she did not belong in a crowd of politicians- she looked the part, but her eyes flicked from person to person, watching for threats. Her fingers tensed around a stylish clutch, which contained not lipstick, but a knife or a holdout pistol. She wore flats, not heels as the other women did.

The other two were much the same- Mandalore was warlike, and though they were a peaceable planet now, terrorist attacks were still common and they were all born of parents who’d worn beskar’gam. These were very dangerous people who were now trying to play a game of politics instead of violence. Qui-gon hoped they would succeed.

“Duchess,” he said, coming closer and bowing. “It is a pleasure to see you here.”

The tension in her face dropped away. She tensed as though to run up to him, then remembered herself. “Master Jinn,” she said, bowing in the Jedi style of respect. When she straightened, her eyes were bright. “I am relieved to know that you are well.”

He smiled and bowed in turn, less deeply- his middle was stiff. “I am well. It was touch and go for a time, or so they tell me, but I have no memory of it.”

She breathed a sigh, then gave up holding back and leapt forward to throw her arms around Qui-gon. “I was so worried when I heard,” she whispered into his robes. “After my father- but you’re alright, yes?” She stepped back, one hand lingering on his chest like she was reassuring herself.

The two dignitaries glanced at each other. One touched her shoulder. “I’m going to warm up the Naboo for you,” he said. “They will have sympathy for our cause, after their own debacle with the Trade Federation.”

Satine blinked, then withdrew her hand. “Yes, thank you. The queen is supposed to be here- I will be with you shortly.”

“Take your time catching up, Satine,” said the man, then the two made themselves scarce.

“They’re good people,” Satine said, nodding in their direction. “Building a cabinet from scratch is difficult. I don’t think Markus is long for office though. He’s skilled at negotiating certain alliances, but he folds under pressure.” She leaned a bit closer and added, “he’s no Obi-wan.”

Her tone was joking, but Qui-gon felt the sense of regret and anger and an overwhelming sense of duty and respect from her.

“There is nobody else like Obi-wan,” Qui-gon agreed, conceding to her point.

Her mouth tightened, but they were both saved from anymore talk of Obi-wan by Anakin. The boy was grinning widely, practically vibrating as he looked up at Satine. “Hi,” he said, a tiny word next to his huge excitement.

“Hello.” She glanced at Qui-gon. “Have you already found a new apprentice?”

“I’m Obi-wan’s new apprentice,” Anakin said, before Qui-gon could open his mouth. “At least, I will be after today. I’m Anakin Skywalker.” He stuck out his hand to shake, then remembered himself and bowed instead.

“Obi-wan’s apprentice?” She covered her mouth with one hand, but it did little to hide her amusement. “It seems so little time has passed, yet so much has happened. How did this come to be?”

Qui-gon set a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “The series of events on our Naboo mission led us to him. He and Obi-wan bonded while I was unconscious.”

Anakin nodded sagely, then glared at Qui-gon. “Can I talk to Satine alone?”

She quirked an eyebrow, glancing at Qui-gon. For a second, Qui-gon was just as confused, and then he realized Anakin’s game. “No,” he said mildly.

But Anakin had already darted forward, grabbing Satine’s hand and dragging her away. Qui-gon cursed under his breath for the second time in only a few minutes and hurried after them.

He caught up with them just in time to hear the end of Anakin’s sentence, “-totally still likes you.”

Satine flushed, then stepped back, shooting a guilty look towards Qui-gon. “Ah. Thank you for relaying the message, Anakin. But the Jedi have rules on this sort of affair, and I would not dream of overstepping my bounds.”

“And Satine has her own responsibilities,” Qui-gon said, grabbing Anakin’s shoulder and pulling him away. “She does not have time for courting someone who lives planets away.”

“The long distance truly is not for me,” she agreed, passing her clutch from hand to hand. “And I share no such feelings,” she added hastily. “Even if they were allowed. Obi-wan would be a truly terrible lover. He’s a conglomerate of lies and manipulation and sarcasm all wrapped in a Jedi robe.”

Anakin pouted. “But-”

“But nothing, Anakin,” Qui-gon said sternly. “This is not the time nor the place for such discussions.”

“And I hate him and the violence he perpetrates every time he ignites his lightsaber,” Satine added, wrinkling her nose in exaggerated distaste.

And then Qui-gon sensed an overwhelmingly bad feeling, and he knew they were absolutely screwed. The bad feeling came from the one and only Quinlan Voss, dressed in neat robes, dreadlocks neatly framing his face. He sauntered up, eyes fixed on Satine like a lothcat stalking a rat.

“Hello, Duchess Kryze,” he said, and bowed deeply. “I am Knight Voss, or Quinlan to my friends.” He straightened halfway up, then took her hand and kissed it. “I would like to think you are one of my friends.”

Qui-gon grabbed him by the scruff of his robe and dragged him and Anakin off to an alcove. Quinlan yelped- “I’m a knight! You can’t treat me like this!”

“And she is a planetary ruler,” he snapped at Quinlan. “Not someone to amuse yourself with. She is here because the Chancellor invited her and she is making a name for her people. You will not get in her way.”

“I wasn’t getting in her way,” Quinlan grumbled, pouting worse than Anakin. “I was introducing myself. I want to meet the lady that’s got Obi-wan all flustered.” He peered around the pillar, pursing his lips. “He really has a thing for the blondes, doesn’t he.”

“Obi-wan does not have a thing for anything,” Qui-gon lied (yes, his padawan did have a thing for blondes. But no, he was not going to discuss this with Quinlan Voss of all people.) “You and Anakin go find the snack table. There’s still a few minutes before the ceremony actually begins.” He pushed Anakin towards Quinlan, then strode off. He would be there when the knighting happened, but for now, he plucked two drinks from a passing waiter and returned to Satine.

She looked uncomfortable at the edge of the room. A few senators gave her sidelong looks. She met their eyes, chin tilted up imperiously. To someone else, she was overconfident, intimidating. But Qui-gon had spent a year with her, and he could read her worries in the upward tilt of her chin, her fears in the aggressive glint in her eyes.

“Is this your first Coruscanti event?” He asked, passing one of the glasses to her. The champagne sparkled in the light.

“Is it that obvious?” She raised the glass to him, then took a small sip. “I’ve been to smaller ones, of course, but the Chancellor… he sent me a personal invitation.” She took a breath. “He addressed me as the leader of New Mandalore- the Chancellor himself.”

“You’ll be getting a seat on the Senate next,” Qui-gon said with a smile. “You’re doing well, Satine. I am glad to see your continued success.”

He couldn’t drink right now- Vokara still had him under strict orders not to have anything more substantial than water or broth by mouth. Holding the glass was more habit than anything, for an event such as this. But Satine took another sip, then shook her head.

“It feels unreal,” she confessed. “And I do miss having you both around. I still find myself turning to your advice. I don’t suppose you would be interested in a seat on my cabinet, now that you’ve finished mentoring Obi-wan?”

Qui-gon laughed politely.

“I am serious,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve had experience on many planets, in many cultures, with many governments. And they cannot send you back into the field after a wound like that- I saw the security footage, so don’t deny it. We’re lucky you’re still amongst the living.”

“There is no such thing as luck,” Qui-gon corrected automatically. Then he shook his head. “I am flattered and honored, Satine. But my place remains with the Jedi. I will finish healing, study the Force, perhaps teach.”

“So you’ll retire,” she said bluntly, and turned to face him directly. “Qui-gon Jinn, you will not last a month in retirement. You’ll be so bored that you’ll start climbing the walls. Come to Mandalore. I won’t put you out to pasture like the Jetii will.”

He’d forgotten how intense she could be, how her eyes burned into him.

“It is not retirement,” he denied gently. “A slower schedule, perhaps, but I will heal.” He hesitated. “And I cannot leave Obi-wan. Don’t speak of this to anybody else, but he’s very young to be a master. He’ll need my support.”

She deflated at his name, the fight going out of her eyes. “Ah. Of course.” Then she shook herself and squared her narrow shoulders. “But the offer stands, Master Jinn. New Mandalore owes itself to you, and there is a place for you should you ever choose it.”

“Thank you, Duchess. I am truly honored by your faith in me.” He was, but he was not a politician. He was trained for crisis and emergencies, not the day to day minutia of running an entire civilization. He had no desire to help run a planet, even from an advisor’s position. Even if the idea of being useful, of helping to make people’s lives better, of using his experience for good was tempting.

Anyways, going to Mandalore meant stepping between Obi-wan and the girl he liked. And while that wasn’t an issue for a Jedi, it was an issue for a man. It wasn’t worth it.

She took another sip of champagne. Small sips, Qui-gon noted, more wetting her lips with it than anything. She would not risk losing her wits here.

“I don’t see the Queen yet,” she mused, eyes flicking around. “They’re still rebuilding, but I believe an alliance could be mutually beneficial.” She glanced at Qui-gon, searching for his opinion.

He could not help her, but he did agree. “The Trade Federation was dealt a large blow,” he said. “Systems may start withdrawing. Knowing where your next shipments are coming from may be beneficial.”

She nodded, then elbowed him. “See? You have a knack for economics.”

He grunted. “Who do you think taught Obi-wan? The Queen just walked in- perhaps you can catch her now.”

Satine nodded, and took a breath. “Her first name is Padmé, yes?”

Qui-gon nodded, and Satine took another breath. “Here I go,” she whispered. “Making peaceable political alliances that are not based on war. Wish me luck, Master Jinn.”

“You’ll do fine,” Qui-gon told her. Lightly, he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Chin up, Satine. You are a remarkable young woman. Your father would be proud. May the Force be with you.”

“And with you as well.” She bowed to him, then stepped from the edge of the room into the fray of wealthy people, carrying the hopes and dreams of Mandalore into the light of the Republic.

…

Satine’s heart pounded but she forced her footsteps to remain steady. Queen Amidala of the Naboo- it was a formidable title. But her title was formidable as well- she was Satine of House Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore.

Around her, politicians clinked glasses of champagne and gossiped about the show they were about to see- a Jedi being knighted. Young Kenobi, was it? Ah yes, he and his master attended my sister’s wedding. He and his master put down that little skirmish on our colony. That boy led Melida-Daan for a bit, remember that? Ah, now that was a mess. Whatever happened to those people? Probably lapsed back into their endless war, what a shame. How do they do this knighting? I heard they brand each other with those lightsabers. Absolutely insane- they tried to take my nephew and we told them three times no thank you.

Satine tried her best to ignore the gossip around her- she was not here for rumors. She was here because Naboo was currently the superpower of the galaxy, with their newfound fame in throwing off the Trade Federation and their senator becoming Chancellor.

(She was certainly not here to gawk at Obi-wan like he was a show-nerf. No, she wanted nothing to do with his ginger ass. As far as she cared, he could step out the building and fall four hundred stories to the lower levels and break his stupid beautiful body on a catwalk far below them.)

The Queen stood beside the Chancellor. Her handmaidens stood sentry like a flock of orange birds.

Satine took a deep breath. She reminded herself of her mission. Then she stepped forward.

“Chancellor Palpatine,” she said, bowing low. “And Queen Amidala. I was truly honored to be invited to this event. I am Duchess Kryze of Mandalore.”

“No need for introductions, my dear,” Palpatine said, stepping forward. “We are honored that you have chosen to grace us with your presence. New Mandalore is a shining example of a people acknowledging their flawed ways and becoming something greater. And I have it on good knowledge that our own Padawan Kenobi helped with it.”

“I owe Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi my life,” Satine admitted. “I would not be here today if not for their bravery.”

“Many here owe Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi,” Queen Amidala said, inclining her head. “Myself included. My own people would not have been freed without them.”

“There do seem to be an inordinate number of young female leaders saved by Obi-wan,” Palpatine said, raising an eyebrow. “He is quite the knight in shining armor, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wouldn’t say shining,” Satine said dryly. “He’s dropped his cloak on the ground so many times that I doubt he’ll ever get it clean.”

Palpatine threw his head back and laughed. “Well, no man is perfect,” he said, brushing a mirthful tear from his eye. “I only hope you don’t hold his dirty cloak against him in your future encounters with him, my dear.”

He said future encounters so surely that Satine almost panicked. He couldn’t know, could he? They’d been careful. Nobody knew. Except Qui-gon Jinn, of course, but he wouldn’t tell anybody.

“After all, when your people become members of the Republic, you will have access to the Jedi as do the rest of us.” He smiled warmly.

Ah, of course.  The reason she was here. She had allowed herself to become distracted for a moment, and she would not make the mistake twice.

“Yes, Chancellor,” she said, bowing her head. “I hope that this is the beginning of a prosperous relationship for both of us. Taking an active role in the Republic seems to be the most natural next step.”

“And I am very excited to see how you will bring Mandalore forward into the arena of the galaxy,” Palpatine said. He stepped forward and touched her arm cordially. “It was lovely speaking with you, my dear. I must make the rounds.” He shook his head, raising his glass to the room. “They have their people’s interests at heart, but few have the experience that you do. The real world often eludes them, I’m afraid. And it scares them as well, sometimes.”

He leaned in closer. Satine could smell the perfume on his robes, an inoffensive, slightly floral scent. It made her stomach turn, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.

“You are a beautiful girl with a core of beskar,” he said. “If the people of Mandalore are as strong as you, then they will have a long, successful future ahead of them.”

He squeezed her arm like they were old friends and then headed off to speak with the other guests. Satine resisted the urge to brush off her arm where he had touched her.

Then she turned towards the Queen of Naboo and bowed her head again. “I congratulate you on your senator becoming Chancellor,” she said. “It must provide your people with a great sense of pride.”

“Pride and sorrow, yes,” Queen Amidala said. “It was only due to the inefficiency of the Senate that he was forced to step forward. I hope in the future we can prevent such violent acts. Corporations such as the Trade Federation should not be allowed to hold such power over individual planets.”

“I agree,” Satine said. She took a sip of her champagne. “I hope to avoid beholding Mandalore to any such agreements. There are many free trading alliances throughout the galaxy. By helping each other, we can choke out the powerhouses holding the galaxy hostage.”

“Are you suggesting a trade alliance with Mandalore?” the Queen asked. Her voice was expressionless. “It seems Mandalore has recently been in dire situation itself. What guarantee would we have of your continued stability?”

It was a fair enough question, but it still itched under Satine’s skin. It would be at least a generation before people stopped questioning New Mandalore’s stability. The terrorist attacks had slowed for the moment, but the people were still hungry. They would slip back into anarchy if she could not find outside support, at least until their bombed out soil was suitable for farming once again.

But the radiation took a long time to decay, and they had no money for a mass treatment to neutralize the contaminants. They needed necessities- food, more efficient ways to cycle their water, equipment to start taking care of themselves.

“Of course I cannot offer the perfect guarantee,” Satine replied. “We are an infant nation. But there is nobody in the galaxy who surpasses us in metalworking- similar alloys to beskar are not only used for armor and weaponry, but for tools, ship parts…” She waved a hand to denote everything else of that kind. “Your own people are rebuilding. My people have already done this, and have experience in quickly repairing the damage caused by violence. I believe our two great planets could help each other rise from out respective strife into a brighter age.”

She could not tell if she had convinced the young queen. The girl’s expression remained neutral, uncannily so behind the face paint.

“We will think on this,” Queen Amidala finally said. “My advisors will be interested in your proposition. We will be in touch.”

Triumph exploded through Satine’s chest, but she only allowed a small smile on her face as she raised her champagne glass. “To being in touch,” she said, then, because the queen did not hold a glass, she drank deeply enough for both of them.

Behind her, the ballroom doors opened with a theatrical crash. “Ah,” said the queen. “It is time for the main event. Excuse me.”

Satine turned, lowering the glass.

It wasn’t the entire Council- it was only a select few- Master Yoda, Master Windu, and a pair that Satine didn’t recognize from description alone. They stepped forward at a stately march. The crowd parted for them as they made their way to the dais.

Someone came up behind her, quick and quiet. She whipped around, heart pounding, but it was only the Jedi Quinlan Voss. She would have known him even without his earlier introduction- Obi-wan’s description had been offensively accurate.

“We’re gonna leave like, an hour after the ceremony. Want to come?”

She blinked, not sure what this conversation was. “Excuse me?”

“We’re grabbing Obi-wan and heading out after this.” He counted on his fingers. “Me, Bant, Reeft, Garen- Luminara was going to come, but a mission came up.” He rolled his eyes. “Throw on some civilian clothes, get some drinks, get Dex’s after. Celebrate his knighting. Low key. Qui-gon is covering for us with the Council- for some stiff old master, he’s a great guy. You want in?”

She blinked again. This was… not at all what she’d expected.

“Look, you’re here for his knighting, right?” Quinlan asked.

Up on the dais Master Windu stepped forward, reciting a rote speech about the history of the Jedi and the sanctity of knighthood. His voice boomed across the room- microphones, or just good lungs and acoustics, Satine couldn’t tell.

“Of course,” she lied. She was not here for the knighting. She was here for Mandalore.

Quinlan elbowed her. “And this is part of it. Come on, if you managed to stomach Obi and Qui-gon for so long, you’ve gotta be kinda fun. It’s not gonna mess up your career or anything. No holos- we’ve got our reputations too, right? Or, you know, some of us do. I already wrecked mine.”

“Dex’s,” she said softly. Was she considering this? Was she a dumbass?

Well, she was Mandalorian, and some said that Mandalorian and Dumbass were synonymous. But she was curious about Obi-wan’s friends, and Obi-wan had made her vow to someday get a burger at Dex’s- he’d raved about them one night, sick of dehydrated protein bars and comfortable enough around her to complain about something trivial.

“No holos,” she repeated. “And we call it a diplomatic discussion over drinks with my allies, not low key going out.”

Quinlan knew he had her. His grin scared her a little. “A diplomatic discussion,” he said, clapping her shoulder. “We’ll have you back home before sunrise. Live a little. One night to be… normal.” An expression flickered across his face too quickly for her to catch, but she had seen the same one on Obi-wan’s face before too. It was the look the Jedi got when confronted with how different they were from the rest of the galaxy, when they allowed themselves to think about what life they might have had.

She had already contacted the queen of Naboo. She had done what she came here to do.

“What the hell,” she said, quirking an eyebrow. “I’ll join you.”

He grinned and offered her a sweeping bow. “Excellent- oh, I’m excited. Come on- let’s watch our baby get his braid chopped.”

…

Anakin chewed on one of the dainty little pastries, trying to be mindful of the sugar tumbling onto his Jedi tunic. For a big party thing, this was rather boring. A celebration on Tatooine meant as much alcohol as people could get their hands on, impromptu music, and dancing. It was rare that slaves could actually celebrate, but it happened sometimes. Enough people would have a night off, the moon would be full, and the desert would crackle with energy so joyous that it made Anakin giddy.

This didn’t make Anakin giddy. It made him bored. Bored and nervous, now that the Jedi Council was here. He could feel their power, ever present even if they weren’t currently using it. Master Windu started talking, and Anakin tried to listen. He did. But the speech was long and boring and full of names and history that he’d never heard of. He couldn’t follow what they were talking about.

So he nibbled on his pastry and watched the crowd, trying to be observant like Qui-gon had told him to be. Most of the people felt soft to him- wealthy Coruscanti politicians who’d never had a challenge worse than which bribe to take. They were like a flock of colorful birds- they looked beautiful, but if you threw a rock at them they would scatter.

But not Padmè. He could feel her- she looked beautiful too, but she had a core of durasteel beside. She stood on the dais beside Palpatine and the Jedi masters, wearing a heavy purple gown that shimmered when she moved. It was actually her dressed as the Queen. Anakin didn’t like it- the makeup was heavy, cloying. It shielded her, as though the mask on her face masked her mind as well. He preferred it when she pretended to be a handmaiden. But she was still the most beautiful person Anakin had ever seen, even with the queen makeup on.

But it was definitely interesting seeing Satine. Quinlan was talking to her- she looked a bit surprised at something he said. Anakin had seen Mandalorians before, of course. Mostly just bounty hunters- they were hard and dangerous. But they were kind to children and slaves- once, one had protected him and his mother from one of Gardula’s enforcers. Even though they felt scary, they didn’t feel evil. Anakin liked them.

Still, he hadn’t really made the connection between Obi-wan’s crush and the terrifying Mandalorian bounty hunters. Obi-wan felt warm every time she was mentioned, even if outwardly he sputtered and told people to shut up. Anakin had imagined a sort of princess, pretty and soft. The kind of girl saved by knights in a fairy tale.

Satine was not pretty nor soft. She could have been from Tatooine, if not for her pale skin. Her face was angular, her wiry muscles tense. He could imagine her standing up to the slave auctioneers, striking quick and brutal like a snake. Her eyes were sharp and cunning- they met his like she felt his observation. Her lips curled to a small smile.

Anakin had barely interacted with her, but he still felt a kind of kinship with her. Like him, she didn’t belong here. She had faced hardships that the colorful people in this room couldn’t imagine, and she had come out harder and stronger for it. Anakin knew how it felt to be on watch even when he was supposed to be safe. He wondered what had happened to Satine to make her that way too.

He wished he could ask her, but then the big ballroom doors opened, and Qui-gon and Obi-wan walked in. The crowd hushed, parting to let them through.

Anakin hastily swallowed the last chunk of pastry, then hurried through the crowd so he could be at the front row.

Obi-wan didn’t look like himself without his tunic and robe and boots. He looked like a sacrifice being led into the sands in a last ditch offering for rain, except it was Qui-gon leading him forward and presenting him to the Jedi Council. Anakin nosed into the front row, wiggling to get between Bant and Reeft. Reeft squeezed his shoulder and stepped over for him.

Obi-wan and Qui-gon paused at the base of the dais. Obi-wan glanced around over his shoulder, and caught Anakin’s eye. His expression didn’t change, but Anakin felt the brush of his presence. He tried his best to send back, I’m okay here, thanks for checking, but he didn’t know if Obi-wan could hear his words or his feelings.

“Master Jinn,” Mace Windu said, his voice booming so suddenly over the room that Anakin jumped. “Whom do you present to the Council?”

Another Jedi, a young man that Anakin hadn’t met officially yet but assumed was Garen, leaned closer to Bant. “They’re really going old school with this, aren’t they?”

“Hush,” Bant snapped quietly at him.

Qui-gon bowed deeply. Anakin could feel his mind wince at his wounds, but physically he did not falter. When he straightened, he said, “I present my padawan, Obi-wan Kenobi, as a candidate for knighthood in the Jedi Order.”

The chancellor, standing up on the dais, started to applaud. He got three claps in before he realized it was an inappropriate moment, and then he clasped his hands together, embarrassment coloring his weak presence. Anakin felt the flinches of the Jedi around him, but the masters in the Council didn’t respond.

Master Windu gestured for Obi-wan to step forward. He did so, bare feet silent on the steps. When he stood before the partial Council, he knelt, resting his hands on his knees, and bowed his head.

Yoda grunted, standing on a stool so he was at eye level with the rest of the Councilors. “Completed his training, has he?”

“Yes, Master,” Qui-gon said. “I have mentored him since he was a child. He is skilled in the Jedi ways and understands our history and our covenants.”

“Tested, he has been?”

Qui-gon nodded again. “He has undergone trials of the body, of the mind, and of the spirit. Every one he has passed with flying colors.” He lifted his chin, looking Master Windu in the eye.

Quinlan came up behind them, touching Anakin’s shoulder so he wouldn’t startle. “Hey guys,” he whispered, only loud enough for the small group to hear. “I invited Satine out with us.”

“You what?” Bant hissed, annoyance flaring, but the ceremony was continuing and she was forced silent.

“Recite the Code,” Windu commanded.

Obi-wan felt like a void in the Force, shielded as he was. “There is no emotion,” he began, voice strong enough to carry even though his back was to the room, “there is peace.”

“You can’t invite Satine,” Bant whispered furiously, turning around. “She’s-”

“There is no ignorance,” Obi-wan continued.

“She’s bored and doesn’t know anybody here,” Quinlan whispered back. “Besides, Obi-wan says they’re over. And she seems like a cool girl.”

“...there is knowledge.”

“She does seem cool,” Garen whispered, leaning in. “I vote she can come. Hey, Anakin. Nice to actually meet you.”

“There is no passion, there is serenity.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Anakin whispered back. Bant stood between them, and they reached around her to shake hands.

“There is no chaos,” Obi-wan continued, but Anakin felt his mind brush them again.

Garen snorted. “Okay, okay, we’re distracting our boy. Shut up, everyone.”

“There is- harmony.” Obi-wan’s voice skipped a beat. He twitched as though to turn around, then steadied. Qui-gon did turn though, fixing Obi-wan’s friends with a glare that made Anakin want to shrink behind Bant.

Quinlan waved jauntily at him. Qui-gon’s jaw clenched. Mace Windu’s eyes flicked their way.

“My ceremony was so quick,” Quinlan muttered. “Passed the Trials and they basically just chopped my braid and went on lunch. What’s all this speech stuff? They’re going to think we’re a cult.”

“Technically we are a cult,” Reeft whispered.

“There is no death, there is the Force.” Obi-wan let out a breath as he finished his recitation.

“Do you, Obi-wan Kenobi, vow to uphold the Jedi Code?” Windu fixed Obi-wan with a stern look that would have made anybody else tremble.

“I do,” said Obi-wan, voice clear.

“Do you vow to uphold the laws of the Republic and protect the beings of this galaxy?”

“I do,” was the obedient response.

“Do you vow to dedicate your life to following the will of the Force?”

Quinlan elbowed Reeft over Anakin’s shoulder. “More like the Force follows Obi-wan’s will, amirite?”

“I do,” Obi-wan replied.

Windu turned to Yoda and stepped back. “He has completed his training and taken his vows,” he said, voice grave. “Do you accept him, Grandmaster?”

Yoda did not immediately respond. The room had gone silent. Anakin could feel the crackling power of the Council members on the dais, of Obi-wan himself. He wondered if the normal rich people could too, or if they were blind to the true nature of what was happening. It was important, he knew instinctively. Too important for a party like this, and now he understood why Obi-wan had been annoyed. The Force- and Anakin knew it was the Force that he felt- was heavy with the significance of the moment.

“Way to drag it out,” Quinlan muttered under his breath, and his casual tone grated on Anakin’s nerves.

The lights of the ballroom went out, plunging them into darkness. Someone yelped in surprise.

A green light appeared, humming, illuminating Yoda’s face. One by one, the other Councilors present lit their lightsabers as well, spreading out in a blue and green semicircle around Obi-wan. The last person was Qui-gon. The green of his blade revealed a proud smile.

Obi-wan himself was a play of blue and green and shadow as he knelt in the center of the circle. The white of his simple tunic reflected the colors, making him brighter than the darkness of the ballroom.

As one, the masters lowered their sabers in a silent salute, even as Yoda gazed down at Obi-wan.

“Padawan,” he said sternly.

Obi-wan looked up. Anakin could feel his anticipation in his own chest. His own heart pounded in time with Obi-wan’s.

“By the right of the Council,” Yoda said, lowering his lightsaber to one of Obi-wan’s shoulders, “by the will of the Force,” he continued, moving his blade in a graceful arc over Obi-wan’s head, “dub thee I do, Jedi-“

The slash came so quick that if Anakin blinked he would have missed it. Obi-wan’s braid fell to the ground, a tiny line of smoke curling up from the cut end, catching in the lightsaber glow.

“-Knight of the Republic,” Yoda finished. “Rise, Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-wan picked up the fallen braid as he rose, then bowed twice- once to Yoda, and once to the Chancellor.

The lights came on, and Anakin winced, dazzled for a second. When he could see again, Obi-wan was coiling the severed braid into Qui-gon’s palms, their heads close together. He saw Obi-wan’s lips move, though he couldn’t hear what he said. He saw Qui-gon nod.

The Council had started to relax, their semicircle loosening. But Obi-wan stepped back into their presence, chin high. “Esteemed Masters,” Obi-wan said. “I have a request.”

“Oh Force, what’s he doing?” Reeft whispered, clutching his hands together. “Obi, just take the win and run with it!”

Looks were exchanged between the Councilors. The Chancellor steepled his fingers together, his curiosity blazingly obvious.

Now that he had everyone’s attention, Obi-wan turned towards the crowd. “Anakin Skywalker, please step forward.”

There was a ripple as everyone turned to look at him. Anakin grinned, realizing Obi-wan’s game, and darted forward, hopping the step up to the dais. He could feel the disapproval of the Council, but he didn’t care. Obi-wan’s eyes were warm, and that was enough.

“As Master Jinn once chose me as his padawan,” Obi-wan said, setting a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and turning towards the Council, “so too do I choose young Skywalker as my own. He has proven himself worthy of the Jedi teachings, and I shall guide him on his own path to knighthood.”

A look was exchanged between the Councilors. The only one who didn’t feel heavy was Master Koon- he felt delighted and amused.

Yoda grunted, fixing Obi-wan with a stern glare.

Windu’s mood flashed angry for a second, then chilled to resignation. “Who will stand for Knight Kenobi as master?”

“I will.” Qui-gon stepped forward, laying a hand on Obi-wan’s shoulder. “He will guide Anakin in the ways of the Force.”

Windu nodded. “And who will stand for Initiate Skywalker as padawan?”

Anakin blinked. He was supposed to find someone for this? He hadn’t known that- he hadn’t even known he was going to be involved with this whole thing. He didn't even really know anybody here.

“I w-” Master Koon started, but he was interrupted.

“I will,” Chancellor Palpatine said, stepping forward. His hand was cool where he laid it on Anakin’s shoulder. “This boy helped save my planet. I can think of nobody more deserving of becoming a Jedi.”

The Chancellor himself was sponsoring Anakin. He grinned, feeling warm. Take that, Master Windu.

Once again, Windu stepped aside. They didn’t turn the lights off for this one though- Anakin was a little disappointed by the lack of showmanship.

“A Jedi padawan you will be, young Skywalker,” Yoda said. “Follow Knight Kenobi, you will. Guide you, he will, on your own path in the Force.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Anakin said, nodding vehemently. He didn’t really love calling someone who wasn’t Obi-wan or Qui-gon ‘master,’ but it was fine.

Obi-wan’s hand squeezed tighter on his shoulder, the one that Palpatine wasn’t holding, and then pushed him slightly. Anakin blinked, then realized that he was supposed to bow. He did so quickly, clumsily, feeling the hands on his shoulders fall away. He hoped nobody noticed his almost-mistake.

“Guide young Skywalker, you will,” Yoda said. “To follow the will of the Force you will show him.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-wan said, and bowed as well.

Qui-gon and Chancellor Palpatine fell back, leaving Obi-wan and Anakin alone in the circle of Councilors.

Obi-wan dropped to one knee, reaching for Anakin’s hair. “I’m sorry if I surprised you,” he whispered, too quiet for anyone else to hear. Anakin could feel his fingers tugging as he braided a thin lock of hair just behind Anakin’s ear. “But I thought it best to publicly acknowledge you as my apprentice, so there are no later questions.” He took a little length of blue thread from where he’d hidden it inside his sleeve and used it to bind the tiny braid behind Anakin’s ear.

Then he moved his hand, cupping Anakin’s cheek. “You will be a great Jedi,” he said, a bit louder so the Councilors would hear it. “I have a good feeling about you.”

Palpatine started clapping. Padmè followed, and then the whole room applauded. Obi-wan winced, then schooled his expression and stood up straight.

Anakin turned slightly, shooting a smile at Padmè. He was glad she was there, seeing him become a Jedi. As soon as he could, he was going to go talk to her. He felt the exact moment Obi-wan saw Satine too- he felt his new master stiffen, felt his shields slam tight as durasteel around his mind.

The clapping died down, and the Chancellor stepped forward, between Obi-wan and Anakin. “These fine young men are heroes for the people of Naboo,” he said. “They have dedicated themselves to helping the people of the galaxy, giving up their own lives- simple pleasures and money and love- for us lowly citizens. It is my honor to acknowledge their sacrifice. This party is but a small token of my appreciation.”

“You’re welcome,” Anakin said, when Obi-wan remained quiet.

The Chancellor threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, young Skywalker, you will have a great career ahead of you. I will be watching with great interest.” Then the laughter fell away, and he turned to Obi-wan. “I trust you will pull out all the stops in training this young man to his full potential.”

Obi-wan’s lips curled to a smile. He bowed his head. “Of course, Chancellor,” he said, pulling Anakin to his side and setting a hand almost possessively on his shoulder. “My padawan has my full attention.”

“Very good,” Palpatine said, inclining his head. “May the Force be with you both.”

Chapter Text

Even when he was under the thumb of jetii tradition, Obi-wan looked calm and in control, standing tall and meeting the eyes of the crowd. He rested a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, claiming the boy as his in front of all those present. He was playing the role of talented Jedi padawan-turned-knight, and he was pandering- that was the only word for it- to the crowd and the Chancellor.

They were putting on a show. Satine lingered on the edge of the ballroom, fingering the angles of her pistol through the fabric of her clutch, and wondered who she needed to punch for this. Obi-wan loved his Jedi family more than he loved her, or himself for that matter. He didn’t deserve to be paraded before the wealthy like this. Maybe it was common practice, she didn’t know, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth. Why did the Jedi even need to pander? They were Jedi.

Still, hadn’t she dressed up all pretty so the Coruscanti nobility would like her? She was parading herself in Mandalore’s name. She couldn’t even take a full breath in this gown without it constricting her ribs and waist. If she had to run, it would rip, she knew. She wasn’t a busty woman, but her push-up bra meant she’d still had to hold her breath to get the thing to zip up. She was pandering as much as Obi-wan and his people were. Just… not as skillfully. She wasn’t as good at hiding her feelings.

That’s why she lingered at the edge of the crowd. Seeing him had made her stomach turn flips, and she had to melt backwards so nobody would read her feelings all over her face. The bastard still had an effect on her. She hated it- she was stronger than this. She was stronger than some crush on some boy.

Their eyes met across the ballroom. His face remained blank, but his gaze lingered.

She did not break the contact. She wanted to run to him. Instead, she smiled and raised her glass in congratulations.

His expression didn’t change, but she felt the brush of him against her mind. He was warm in her head, longing in a way that made her heart skip a beat and her stomach drop from her body. She wasn’t even supposed to be able to feel him- she wasn’t a Jedi. But his eyes bored into her from across the ballroom, and for a single moment, they were alone, connected, even as the crowd moved between them.

And then Queen Amidala stepped forward, congratulating him and thanking him and Qui-gon for their service. The spell was broken. His presence slipped away and Satine’s ears rang with the sudden emptiness in her skull.

She shook the feeling away, and then the sense of jealousy when he smiled at Queen Amidala. They looked older with all the makeup, but the queen of Naboo and her handmaidens were supposed to be children, right? There was no reason for her to be jealous.

If she was jealous of anybody, it was the Jedi Council themselves. Kriffing assholes, standing up there all noble and godly. She alone knew how much Obi-wan struggled under that durasteel code. How guilty he felt when he let himself feel something other than blind loyalty. How his whole body had tensed the first time she’d hugged him, because even that small admission of attachment made him a sinner.

And poor little Anakin didn’t understand yet what cult he had joined. Was it too late to rescue that innocent child who’d urgently confessed that his new master still had a crush on her? Probably. At least he was with Obi-wan and not one of those hard masters on the Council.

“Duchess Kryze?”

Satine jumped, too lost in her own thoughts and not focused on her surroundings. She jerked in a circle, but it was only one of Obi-wan’s friends. Bant Eerin- they had spoken briefly over hologram about Qui-gon’s well-being. Obi-wan had spoken of Bant like she was a beloved sister. They’d been raised together, had learned together, annoyed each other, and took care of each other.

And unfortunately, like siblings, they knew everything about each other. And that meant illicit romantic affairs as well, judging by the fierce scowl and crossed arms. Satine felt a flicker of jealousy- this time, towards the fact that Obi-wan had a sister to know about his love life. She missed Bo-Katan.

But Satine refused to be cowed by Bant’s scowl. “Hello, Padawan Eerin. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“I’d like to say the same,” Bant said. She did glance around to make sure nobody was listening, then skirted to the side so their conversation was behind one of the pillars. “But it worries me that we’re meeting here, of all places.”

“Here, at the Naboo embassy?” Satine asked, feigning ignorance. She would not give anything away- if somehow Bant didn’t know, or if she only suspected, then Satine would not be the one to spill the secret.

“At Obi-wan’s knighting,” Bant corrected, luminous eyes narrowed.

Satine felt a prickling- she knew Bant was using the Force, trying to read her. But she shrugged it off, imagining she was wearing her helmet, letting nothing in or out. It was a trick Qui-gon had taught her, curious to see if he could teach someone who wasn’t Force sensitive. Apparently it worked on other Jedi too, because Bant’s scowl deepened.

“Master Jinn and Pada- Knight Kenobi saved my life several times,” Satine said, glancing back up towards the dais. “When I received an invitation, I was happy to come support him.”

Bant’s eyes narrowed. “Are you truly here supporting him? Or are you looking for something more?”

Satine knew what Bant was actually asking, but she remained stubbornly obtuse. “I am hoping for New Mandalore to gain a stronger foothold in the Senate,” she admitted. “Two of my people are here as well.” She gestured towards the crowd. “And I’ll admit, when your friend Knight Vos invited me to join you, I was hoping to gain a greater rapport with the Jedi. Our peoples have an unsteady history, and I hope for unity in the future.”

Bant still didn’t look quite convinced. Satine took a breath. “I do care for him, as a friend,” she admitted quietly. “But you can trust me when I say that I would never undermine his standing as a Jedi Knight.”

Her stern expression softened slightly. “So you understand the significance of the vows he just took?”

Satine smiled. “I took similar vows to my own people.”

Bant studied her for a moment longer, and then her eyes flicked to the side. Satine followed her gaze, then checked her expression. Obi-wan and Anakin approached, Obi-wan calm and stoic, Anakin bouncing around him and constantly reaching up to touch the stub of a braid behind his ear.

“Duchess,” Obi-wan said, bowing his head. His voice dripped with cool formality.

“Knight Kenobi,” Satine replied, nodding in return. “Congratulations. And congratulations to you as well, Anakin.”

“Thanks,” Anakin said, still fidgeting, never standing still.

Obi-wan turned to Bant. “Did you bring-“

“Garen put clothes in your meditation room,” Bant said. “You should probably stay here a bit longer though.”

“I was just looking for shoes,” Obi-wan said, rolling his eyes. “Before I step on a shattered champagne glass.”

“Nobody’s broken anything,” Anakin said, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you can sense...”

Obi-wan held up a single finger. Anakin fell silent, holding his breath. A heartbeat later, they heard the sound of shattering glass across the ballroom and somebody apologizing profusely.

It was nothing more than a Jedi party trick with his precognition, though whether he was trying to impress her or Anakin, Satine wasn’t sure. Anakin was suitably impressed though. He grabbed Obi-wan’s arm. “You gotta teach me how to tell the future like that!”

“Maybe someday,” Obi-wan said, his eyes flicking to Satine.

She took a sip of her champagne and pretended she hadn’t noticed his childish trick.

“Yeah, we brought your shoes,” Bant said, rolling her eyes. “Go get them quickly before the Chancellor starts gushing about you and Anakin again. You’d think he never met a Jedi before.”

Obi-wan nodded. His eyes flicked once more to Satine, and then he darted off. It was more of a retreat than anything. He was gone in a moment and Satine felt a keen sense of regret, though she would be seeing him again soon.

“Was I supposed to follow him?” Anakin asked Bant.

“He’ll be back soon enough,” Bant said, attention moved to the boy she was suddenly babysitting.

Satine hesitated. She wished the champagne were stronger. Then she slipped away from the two Jedi to tail Obi-wan out the far door, down a lavish hall leading away from the ballroom. Maybe it was obvious, but Bant had made it clear that she already knew.

As soon as they were away from the crowd, she didn’t bother hiding her pursuit. He knew she was there- she saw his hesitation when he turned a corner and pushed open a door hidden behind a few plants. It opened to a far plainer stairwell, clearly meant for staff rather than guests. An automatic light flicked on for his entry, but shadows remained in the floor above and below.

He held the door for her, though he didn’t turn to look until the latch clicked shut.

They stood on the landing of a stairwell that went infinitely up and down. This close to him, it felt magnetic. Satine could faintly see the outline of muscle through his tunic- she wanted to run her hands over those lines like she had a hundred times before. He seemed off balance without his braid, his head tilted slightly.

“You look beautiful,” he said, standing a respectable arm-length away. He drank her in as much as she did him, blue eyes washed out in the harsh stairwell light. “The color suits you.”

“That color does not suit you,” she replied, wrinkling her nose. “Whatever were they thinking? You should only ever wear warm colors with your complexion. Reds. Oranges. Browns.”

“Red clashes with my hair,” he said, shaking his head.

“Your hair is not nearly auburn enough to clash with a red,” Satine replied coolly. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“I must flatter myself, when you berate me so,” he said, crossing his arms. He had no expression, but the corners of his mouth were tense, like he was about to smile or scowl.

“Perhaps if your ego weren’t so inflated, I would not need to correct it for you.” She crossed her arms as well.

“Perhaps it isn’t my ego, but your desire to control me that must be checked,” he said, tilting his chin up imperiously.

“I would never dream of controlling a Jedi.” Satine raised an eyebrow. “Your ironclad code controls you for me.”

“And your lack of a code leaves you wild and undisciplined,” he shot back.

“Wild and undisciplined?” She repeated, pressing a hand to her chest like it had offended her. “I am…”

She only hesitated for a second, but his lips curled up in a smile at his own win. Well, she’d wipe that smile off his face- she gave in to the gravity between them, to her own wildness and lack of discipline, and threw herself forward, her lips meeting his. He caught her, pulling her down as he sat back heavily on the ascending stairs.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she kissed him. With his mouth on hers, his arms tight around her, everything was right with the world. This was where they belonged, with each other. She shifted so she was on his lap as he sprawled over the steps. It was only them- she could feel the Force when she was with him, feel the way he connected to the universe itself, feel his hands starting to wander down her back, over her thigh-

Footsteps in the hall.

They sprang apart. She nearly fell on the bottom step before catching her balance and standing on the landing. He jumped up and dusted himself off. His cheeks were flushed. She probably didn’t look much better.

The footsteps in the hall faded as they kept walking. Whomever it was had no interest in a half-hidden staff stairwell.

Obi-wan cleared his throat. Satine adjusted one of the lilies in her hair. A crack in one of the floor tiles sort of looked like a lothcat without a tail.

“Congratulations on your knighthood-“

“I heard Mandalore has started peace talks with-“

They both silenced as they spoke at the same time, staring at each other. She swallowed. She wanted to tell him that she missed him, but she didn’t want to make him feel bad for staying with the Jedi. Sure, they’d had pillow talk about running away from their respective responsibilities together, but it had never been serious. Just a pleasant fantasy.

He was like a fantasy, standing before her, silent, eyes pleading.

She refused to look at him. “You should get your shoes,” she said. “Your friends invited me out with you. I’ll see you then.”

“They did?” He looked genuinely surprised at that, then he smiled. “You’ll like them. They’re good people.”

“Good.” She inclined her head. “Mandalore and the Jetiise are allies now. I should hope my allies are good people. Go get your shoes.”

He took a step up the stairs. She set a hand on the handle of the door.

“Satine-” he said, and her heart swooped at her name in his mouth. She turned back to him, waiting.

He hopped down the stairs to the landing, so close she could smell the faint soap and lightsaber ozone that lingered around him. Her breath caught in her throat.

He reached out and adjusted the flowers in her hair, straightening them carefully so it wouldn’t look like she had just gone tumbling down on top of a boy in a stairwell. She imagined falling forward against his chest, of them sneaking away, abandoning this party and the Jedi and her own people.

But he just fixed her hair for her and then dropped his hands. “I’ll see you soon?” He asked, sounding fragile and hopeful.

She inclined her head. “Of course, Ben. I’m proud of you.” Then she reached up, touching the burnt patch of hair behind his ear. “I’ll miss this though.”

His mouth quirked in a lopsided smile. “I won’t.”

She stole a quick kiss, then pushed him away. “Go get your shoes. I must return before anybody starts to talk.”

She felt his hand brush her back as she turned and stepped out of the stair, but he didn’t follow her. She didn’t immediately return to the ballroom though. She stopped in the ladies’ room first, fanning her face and watching her reflection for the telltale blush to fade from her cheeks.

…

“Ah, Anakin, I was hoping to catch you before the Jedi cleared out.” The Chancellor appeared from the crowd, a kind smile on his face. “I wanted to personally thank you for destroying that terrible Trade Federation ship.”

Anakin shrugged. “Yeah, it was no problem.”

“No problem?” Palpatine shook his head incredulously. “You took out an entire ship. An entire army, if you count the deactivated droids on the ground. And you say no problem?”

“Jedi do not take pride in material accomplishments,” Bant said, shaking her head. “Anakin did his duty.”

Anakin shot a look up at Bant. Okay, he wouldn’t take pride out loud, maybe, but he was pretty proud of killing all those droids. He was kind of a hero. He did appreciate the thanks from Palpatine.

“Of course he did,” Palpatine said, conceding to Bant. “But, pride or not, he is a remarkable young man. Perhaps I could have a moment alone, to congratulate him?”

Anakin sensed Bant’s hesitation. He glanced up, raising an eyebrow. Why was she hesitating? “I don’t need a babysitter,” he said, voice coming out a little sharper than he meant.

“Of course not,” Bant said, nodding her head. “I’ll be over with Garen and Reeft.” She dragged her feet as she walked off, and then the crowd swallowed her.

“I understand that the Jedi avoid emotion,” the Chancellor said, shaking his head at her exit. “But not even a bit of pride for what you did? You accomplished what would kill a lesser man. I am truly grateful to you, Padawan Skywalker. All of my people are.”

Anakin grinned. “You’re welcome,” he said again. “I mean, Obi-wan and Qui-gon helped too.”

“Of course, of course,” the Chancellor said. He took a seat on one of the benches on the edge of the ballroom, and patted the spot next to him. Anakin took it, crossing one leg over the other like Obi-wan did. “But you did most of the work, or so I heard. It took two of them to kill one… what? Assassin? But you destroyed an army.”

“Not an assassin,” Anakin corrected, shaking his head. “A Sith Lord. That’s one of the most evil things out there. Like, a bad Jedi, I think.”

“A Sith!” The Chancellor pressed a hand to his chest. “My my- are they sure? It was my belief that the Sith were extinct.”

“Nope.” Anakin felt a peculiar smugness in his chest- he knew something the Chancellor didn’t. “That’s why they’re letting Obi-wan teach me. ‘Cause he’s the most powerful Jedi of all time if he was able to kill an actual Sith.”

“Oh my.” Palpatine turned so he was facing Anakin. “So I suppose if the Sith were involved, the Trade Federation fiasco must have been even more serious than we thought.” He pressed his hands together at his lips, frowning. “It seems I’ve come into office at a particularly dangerous time,” he said in a small voice.

“No.” Anakin elbowed him. “I mean, yeah, maybe, but I’m gonna be a Jedi, so I can help you if you need. I bet Obi-wan would too.”

“I… I would appreciate that, Anakin.” Palpatine turned to study the crowd. He didn’t shine brightly, but Anakin could still sense that he was troubled. “In these times, we can use all the allies we can find. Where is that young master of yours? I thought he was here.”

“He went to get his clothes,” Anakin said, standing up to look around. He sat back down when he didn’t immediately see Obi-wan. “He should be back soon.”

“It seems the duchess from Mandalore is gone too,” Palpatine said. He chuckled to himself. “Ah, to be young.”

Anakin opened his mouth to laugh too, and then slammed it shut. He remembered that the Jedi weren’t allowed to love. Palpatine had told him it was okay to take a little pride in his work, but actual love and pride in one’s work were two different things. He didn’t want to get Obi-wan in trouble.

But Palpatine didn’t seem interested in getting Obi-wan in trouble. He shook his head. “Between you and me, that Code of yours seems a little harsh. Obviously I’m not a Jedi, so I don’t have a full understanding, but I saw them look at each other. Keeping them apart…” He sighed, then shook himself. “But then again, perhaps I am simply remembering the days of my own youth. Forgive an old man his musings, Anakin.”

“They’re not a thing,” Anakin said awkwardly. Then he gained traction. “Obi-wan is the best Jedi. And he doesn’t cheat on the Code.”  

“Of course not, of course not!” Palpatine waved a hand. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply… I simply heard a rumor and got carried away with it.”

“Yeah. I heard that one.” Anakin bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t dug himself or Obi-wan into a rumor hole. A rumor hole that was true, based on the way Obi-wan blushed when someone brought Satine up, but still. “But it’s a lie, and Master Windu will get pis- mad at Obi-wan if he hears it.”

“We don’t want that,” Palpatine said, covering his mouth. “I do apologize. I didn’t realize the consequence of such a rumor- of course I will never repeat it. Still, it seems a bit harsh that even a rumor might get Knight Kenobi in trouble. Or is he Master Kenobi, since he’s your teacher?”

“Uh…” Anakin blinked. “I’m… not sure. I think he might be Knight to you and Master to me? But I usually just call him Obi-wan. He’s not too strict on the titles.”

But Obi-wan was also sensitive to the fact that Anakin had been a slave, so maybe he just didn’t want to enforce Anakin calling him master? But that was his title, and he was Anakin’s teacher now. And Anakin really didn’t mind calling him that. Obi-wan wasn’t a bad master from Tatooine. He was a good Jedi master.

He sensed Qui-gon approaching and glanced up.

“Ah, Master Jinn,” Palpatine said, rising. “I was just talking to Padawan Skywalker here. He was very brave in the battle of Naboo. As were you. How are you healing?”

“I am healing well,” Qui-gon said, bowing his head. “We appreciate the gratitude, but it is misplaced. We are at the service of the galaxy.” He smiled lightly. “Excuse me if I don’t bow to you. I am a bit stiff at the moment.”

“Of course.” Palpatine reached out, grabbing Qui-gon by the shoulders. “My friend, don’t worry about such formalities. You have earned such niceties, raising such a strong Jedi as Knight Kenobi and rescuing Padawan Skywalker from the Outer Rim.”

Qui-gon smiled politely. “Obi-wan is a far better knight than I could ever hope to be,” he said. “I believe Anakin will prove the same. Thank you, Chancellor, for being strong yourself. It could not have been easy stepping into your new role in this troubled way.”

“No, no it was not. It still is not.” Palpatine shook his head. “I am worried that this strife is only the beginning of a time of hardship. But I will do my best to lead us through.”

Qui-gon set a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “And the Jedi will support you,” he said, bowing his head. “We owe our existence to the Republic.”

“And the Republic to you.” Palpatine smiled down at Anakin. “Study hard, Padawan Skywalker. I will be watching your career with great interest.”

“I will,” Anakin said, nodding. Then he went off with Qui-gon to talk to the other senators, but he waved to Palpatine as he left. He liked the man. He reminded him of a grandfatherly figure from back home.

The hall, with all its politicians and their shifting influences, started to muddle Anakin’s senses as soon as the Chancellor stepped away. Everything seemed clear around the old man, even if he weren’t Force sensitive. Qui-gon was great, but he didn’t have that grandfatherly warmth that soothed Anakin’s hyperactive Force sense.

Anakin wanted to go back to the Temple. This room stifled him, and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk to Padmé yet. He didn’t know if there would even be time for it. He knew Qui-gon wanted to go back too- he was tiring, standing still by one of the pillars rather than milling around with everyone else. He stood with his back straight, but Anakin could sense him flagging.

“Don’t worry about me,” Qui-gon said, glancing down at Anakin. “I’m quite alright.”

Anakin jerked back into his own head. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Qui-gon said, and Anakin sensed the genuine amusement in his words, along with a more general feeling of reassurance. “I appreciate the concern. But I don’t plan on collapsing anytime soon.”

“Nobody plans on collapsing,” Anakin pointed out. Then he huffed and leaned back against the pillar. “When’s Obi-wan getting back?”

This time, Anakin felt Qui-gon’s mind probing his. He tried not to jerk away too much from the sense of someone else in his head- he was starting to get used to the alien feel of someone who had the same powers as him. The Jedi felt each other out psychically as much as with their physical senses. It had shocked Anakin the first time he’d realized Obi-wan was doing it, and he didn’t want to hurt anybody like he’d done to Obi-wan, even if it hadn’t ended up being serious.

Still, he preferred being the only person in the room that could read minds.

“I am glad you and Obi-wan bonded,” Qui-gon said after a long moment, withdrawing from his study of Anakin. “He will teach you a great deal.”

Anakin fingered the stump of a braid behind his ear. He wondered if it would ever grow as long as Obi-wan’s had. “Yeah. I know he’s good.” He hesitated. “I didn’t wanna make a choice between you guys though. I think you’d be a good teacher too. But Obi-wan said it felt right for us to be together, and he kinda sees the future, so I thought…”

“I bear no hard feelings, young one,” Qui-gon said. “And Obi-wan’s feelings turn out to be right, more often than not. But a word of caution. He is not always right, and sometimes he can get caught in futures that will never come to be. On occasion he needs a reminder to pay attention to the here and now. And I will not always be around to give him that reminder.”

“So it’s up to me?” Anakin wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of that. Correcting his master?

“The master learns from the student as much as the student from the master,” Qui-gon told him. “Perhaps more. Obi-wan certainly taught me a great deal.”

“How’d he teach you?” Anakin asked, turning to face Qui-gon. That seemed impossible. Qui-gon had such poise and bearing that the idea of him being humbled enough to learn from his student was incredible.

Qui-gon’s gaze drifted away, like he was no longer seeing Anakin. “We’ve had an eventful partnership,” he said slowly. “I will miss working with him. And speaking of…” he glanced up towards the door.

Anakin did too, and a second later he sensed Obi-wan through the crowd. A moment later, Obi-wan appeared, dressed in his cloak and boots once again. “I’m starving,” he said, glancing around. “I hope you didn’t eat all the food.”

“No,” Anakin said, darting to his side. “But you might wanna move fast before those guys over there get them all.” He pointed to a group of noblemen who were at the snack table, finishing off a tray of something small and fancy and oddly textured.

Obi-wan’s jaw clenched. “This is my party,” he grumbled. “I want the shrimp.”

“There were servers,” Qui-gon said, glancing around. “Ah-” he waved, flagging one down.

The man only had champagne on his tray. Obi-wan took one of the glasses, then nodded towards the table. “Was that the last of the shrimp?”

“No, sir- Knight Kenobi. There’s more in the kitchen. I’ll fetch you some.”

“I would appreciate it,” Obi-wan said, with a small grin. He pursed his lips. “And the good bread, if you’ve got more.”

“With the garlic butter?” The served asked, looking resigned to taking an actual order instead of mindlessly circulating.

“That’d be great.” Obi-wan smiled brightly at him. The server darted off, and Obi-wan let out a breath. “He called me a knight,” he said, his voice going a little high pitched.

“You are a knight,” Qui-gon said, catching Anakin’s eye in an amused look.

“Yes.” Obi-wan flicked his head, but there was no braid to flip over his shoulder. He felt slightly odd to Anakin now, off kilter and almost jumpy, as much as a Jedi could be jumpy.

Obi-wan took a sip of the champagne. At the same time, he brushed back against Anakin’s awareness. It wasn’t much of a message so much as an acknowledgement. “I hope this party isn’t boring you too much.”

“No,” Anakin lied.

“It certainly isn’t boring you,” Qui-gon shot in, raising an eyebrow towards Obi-wan.

Anakin wasn’t sure what Qui-gon meant, but Obi-wan blushed and turned away, hiding behind another sip of champagne.

“Pada- Obi-wan.” Qui-gon exhaled wearily, leaning back against the pillar. He didn’t sound angry, just… sad.

They both felt sad. Obi-wan more so- sad and longing. Anakin frowned, trying to piece together what he’d missed. But the moment passed a second later, vanishing between one heartbeat and the next. The server returned with Obi-wan’s food. He jumped on it like a starving man.

“You didn’t have to fast for this, did you?” Qui-gon asked, raising an eyebrow.

Obi-wan shook his head, swallowed a mouthful of shrimp. “No. But I’ve been busy. All I got today was a protein bar for break-“

He broke off as they were approached by a group of rich people. Anakin straightened up at Obi-wan’s side, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the lead person’s heavy perfume. She was pretty like a holo-star, with a bright red gown with a plunging neckline. Anakin didn’t get why ladies dressed like that. It couldn’t be comfortable.

“Congratulations to you both,” she said, throwing her arms wide. Her jewelry clinked and glittered. It was all real gems, Anakin would have bet. “It was a beautiful ceremony, truly wonderful. When that Yoda went to cut your hair, I had to hold my breath. I was certain he would miss and cut off your head!”

Obi-wan smiled indulgently. “Thank you,” he said. “No need to worry though- I assure you, we are all quite skilled with our lightsabers.”

“I’m sure you are,” the lady said, leaning in and winking.

Obi-wan didn’t outwardly twitch, but he inwardly grimaced. Anakin could feel it. He almost laughed, but he tried to keep his face as blank as he could.

“And you, young Jedi,” the lady said, pinching Anakin’s cheek. “What a cutie. You two will be the heartthrobs of the galaxy, I just know it.”

Anakin didn’t have Obi-wan’s control. He grimaced.

“My niece already has Kenobi’s picture up on her wall,” The lady’s companion said, chuckling. “You know the one from the holonews, where you’re looking all scruffy and holding that princess- she taped her own face on the girl’s!” He laughed.

The lady turned. “Oh my goodness, this is little Celeste? That’s hysterical!”

“I told her, if she was going to have a crush on anybody, a Jedi would be a good option,” the man said, nodding soundly. Then he turned and shot Obi-wan a warning look. “But she’s only twelve, so don’t go getting any ideas.”

Obi-wan’s jaw clenched. “Of course not,” he said. “I would not be interested even were she of age.”

“Was that the picture taken just before you tripped and dropped the Duchess on her face?” Qui-gon asked helpfully.

Obi-wan took a sip of champagne while everybody laughed at him. Even Anakin joined in- he couldn’t help it. But he thought privately, even under his giggles, that he would never be as smooth as Obi-wan. He would have been mad that everybody was laughing. But Obi-wan was gracious, even when the lead lady pulled him away from his dinner so she could “be the first person to dance with the new Jedi, take a holo and send it to little Celeste!”

Anakin found himself abandoned on the edge of the room with Qui-gon, holding Obi-wan’s plate and champagne. He huffed, wondering when they could leave. He didn’t even like the shrimp, so he couldn’t steal Obi-wan’s food.

…

“I’ll be on a diplomatic rendezvous with the Jedi,” Satine said softly. The three diplomats stood close together on the edge of the room, speaking Mando’a when it was just them. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Markus and Ni-Kata glanced at each other, then back to Satine. Ni-Kata smiled slightly. “Do you need us to provide backup?” She asked.

Satine shook her head. “This will be a good will meeting, not a-”

“Is going out with the Jedi a good idea?” Ni-Kata asked, crossing her arms. She was older than the two of them, but she’d been a vehement speaker for New Mandalore even before Satine had taken over the movement. “The Jedi and Mandalore have been enemies for-“

“And now we are allies,” Satine said, bowing her head. “If we are to move forward in peace, we cannot alienate a people over an old war. Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi risked their lives for our people. Their enemies are on Concord Dawn, not Mandalore.”

Ni-Kata conceded the point with a wave of her hand. “Still, is it wise of you to join them? There are rumors-”

Markus snorted before Satine could deny anything. “Kryze and Kenobi?” He scoffed, gesturing across the ballroom where the Jedi in question was standing with his new Jedi-ling, graciously accepting the congratulations of senators who had no idea how hard he’d worked. He had his boots and cloak now, Satine noted, though he still wore the white tunic underneath. He looked more himself in his cloak, a bit more relaxed. “Satine has better taste than that.”

“He was my bodyguard, nothing more,” Satine confirmed, pulling her eyes back to the conversation at hand. She could still taste him on her lips, salt and ozone and the stars that danced in the Force itself. “And I would not be with him, even were he not a Jedi,” she added. “He is far too fond of wordplay and exaggeration. You cannot trust a word he says.”

He’d written a few of her speeches. Not the message, but the words themselves, formed and shaped to make pacifism the shining light and violence the epitome of evil. Those had been her best speeches, garnering cheers and support and followers. And Obi-wan had stood behind her, not agreeing with all of her sentiments, perhaps, but glowing with pride towards her. With Obi-wan, she was unstoppable.

When she glanced towards him again, he was dancing with one of the daughters of some benefactor whose name Satine had already forgotten. People had cleared the floor for the pair. A few clapped delightedly. Satine was not delighted. While, logically, she knew that Obi-wan and that rich lady were not a couple, she had to admit they looked good together. When they spun, his brown cloak and her red skirt billowed. Both were graceful; both knew how to dance in a ballroom of expensive taste.

“Perhaps she will donate money to the Jedi cause after this,” Ni-Kata said, rolling her eyes.

Satine pursed her lips. “It seems bad taste to dance with her when the Queen of Naboo is right there,” she said, the words feeling sour on her tongue. (He should not be dancing with the benefactor’s daughter, nor Queen Amidala. He should be dancing with Satine). “It is, after all, her senator who became Chancellor.”

The benefactor’s daughter was beautiful. Her skin seemed to glow. The red dress was bright but not garish, clinging to her curves and plunging low enough to reveal her ample cleavage without being completely revealing. Satine allowed herself a moment to hate her own body, skinny as all the Kryzes’ were. Perhaps it was only a cup size or two that had kept Obi-wan from leaving the Jedi for her.

Then she shoved those poison thoughts away. She was not as beautiful as the benefactor’s daughter, no, but she was the one that Obi-wan had kissed in the stairwell.

She turned away, back to her own people. They had business here before she left with the Jedi.

…

“Is he ready yet?” Quinlan pulled his cloak up over his head, hoping no more senators would come up with nosey questions about the Jedi. Every time he shook a hand, he got flashes of their inner lives, the memories that surrounded them. Bribes, illicit sexy times, evil underhanded deeds, secret good deeds… none of it was safe from Quinlan Vos. He knew all.

Garen sat on the table beside him, watching. “No, he’s dancing with the Queen of Naboo now. How did he remember those dances?” He rolled his eyes. “I forgot them all as soon as I passed Diplomacy 101.”

“Obi-wan’s not a hotshot pilot like you,” Quinlan pointed out. “He can’t just dip his wings at a girl to get in her pants. But he’ll get plenty of babes tonight if he hurries up.”

“Be patient,” Bant said, returning from the ‘fresher. “This is his party, you know. He has to put in an appearance.”

Reeft dangled a shrimp down in front of Quinlan. Quinlan scoffed at him, then grabbed the shrimp and bit it off the tail.

“You’re supposed to squeeze it,” Reeft said, ducking when Quinlan flicked the tail at him. “You just wasted it.”

“I don’t want tail meat,” Quinlan replied, and licked cocktail sauce off one of his fingers. “I’m a classy bitch, unlike you. Ah, hello there, Duchess. Sorry, I’m a classy lady.”

“Do not school your speech on my account,” Satine said. She had approached softly, poised like she was on a mission. The light gleamed off the midnight color of her dress. “I’ve heard worse from Obi-wan’s mouth, when he thinks nobody is listening.”

Quinlan really tried to hold back, but the comeback burst forth. “Not the only thing you’ve gotten from Obi-wan’s mouth.”

Bant smacked him across the back of the head, but Satine didn’t look offended. Rather, she looked amused. “I’ll take that as permission to sit with you,” she said, taking the chair beside him. She folded her hands neatly around her clutch, then glanced over at them. “I’ve met you and you,” she said, nodding to Bant and Quinlan. “But everybody else… I’m assuming you’re Reeft and Garen?”

“Obi-wan told you a lot about us,” Garen said, shaking his head. “But he didn’t tell us much about you.”

Quinlan knew enough. He’d shaken her hand; he’d felt the flashes of emotion and memory. Violence, grief, pain- a product of the planet she came from. But there was love there too, deeper than Quinlan could ever hope to feel himself. That kind of feeling only came once in a lifetime, if it came at all. Were Quinlan in Obi-wan’s shoes, he would have bid the Jedi a cheerful goodbye and taken up residence wherever the girl wanted him. But Obi-wan was a better Jedi than most.

“There are no secrets between you and him, are there?” Satine asked, her eyes flicking between them.

“Poor guy turns red if we bring you up,” Quinlan said, smirking. “But he doesn’t kiss and tell, no. No matter how much you ask for the sordid details.”

“There was nothing sordid,” Satine said, crossing her legs neatly. She smiled lightly. “Perhaps uncouth, but not sordid.”

Quinlan stared at her, then he grinned. “I do like you,” he declared, throwing an arm around her. “Just for that, I’ll make sure you get a dance with Obi too. There’s a great place down on the fun level-”

“You can’t take the Duchess of Mandalore there,” Bant interrupted, big eyes even wider. “Quin! What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that they make a great cocktail,” Quinlan said, tilting his head back to grin at Bant. “And they do those blue things that Obi likes.”

“Those blue things?” Reeft asked. “Do you even know what they’re called?”

Quinlan shook his head. “Alas, no. I only ever drink that stuff with Obi-wan when I’m already trashed. Never caught the name. Just let him order.”

“He doesn’t even say the name,” Satine interrupted. “He just waves his hand…” she made an approximation of a Jedi mind trick, “…and someone puts a blue drink in his hand.” She turned towards them, wide eyed. “Is it a Jedi thing, or a Stewjon thing?”

“It’s an Obi-wan thing,” Garen said, shaking his head. “And speak of the devil…”

Obi-wan appeared, from the crowd, ducking under an elbow as he shoved a piece of bread into his mouth. “Plea’ re’cue me,” he said, mouth full, moving behind them so nobody would see him. “I hate politics,” he explained after he’d swallowed. Then he saw Satine and froze for a second, looking between her and them.

“No secrets between friends, Obi,” Quinlan said cheerfully, clapping Satine on the shoulder.

Satine smiled. “You did say there’d be time to change before we left?” she asked, reaching out to touch Obi-wan’s cloak. “I’m afraid I might suffocate if I attempt a diplomatic rendezvous with the Jedi in this gown.”

Obi-wan’s eyes raked over her gown, then flicked back up. But he didn’t look at Satine- he looked at Quinlan instead, almost questioning.

Go ahead, buddy, Quinlan thought. This is my knighthood present to you. One night with the lady you love before you become a badass master who can beat all our asses and never gets tripped up by passion or emotion.

But he didn’t say that. He just grinned and raised an eyebrow. He too was disappointed that Satine wanted out of her gown. It truly looked lovely on her.

Chapter Text

“Will you be alright here?” Obi-wan asked. He’d pulled Anakin off to the hallway where they wouldn’t be overheard. “I can stay if you-”

“It’s okay,” Anakin quickly said, shaking his head. “You should go have fun with your friends. I know you’re looking forward to it.”

Obi-wan smiled slightly, but crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re getting a little too good at reading my mind, small one.”

Anakin grinned. “I didn’t have to read your mind. You just confirmed it. Plus you feel lighter. Like you’re not all coiled up like a tension spring.”

Obi-wan snorted, but reached out to squeeze Anakin’s shoulder. “Qui-gon is up and walking, and you’re officially my padawan. I suppose I do feel a little lighter.” He hesitated. “What about you? A lot has happened. How light do you feel?”

He was rewarded with a wide grin. “You’re my master,” Anakin said, like that explained everything. Then, without warning, he jumped up and threw his arms around Obi-wan in a hug so tight that Obi-wan wondered how the skinny boy had enough muscle.

Obi-wan chuckled awkwardly and wrapped an arm around Anakin. He only hugged his apprentice back for a moment though, before peeling himself away. It wouldn’t due for a Council member to see such a blatant display of affection, even if Anakin came from a culture where it was more accepted. “And you’re my padawan,” Obi-wan affirmed, hand lingering on Anakin’s shoulder.

Never doubt my dedication to you, he thought, but did not say aloud.

Anakin shoved him away. “Now you should go,” he said. “Or else Quinlan is gonna change his mind and go without you. He’s super loud.” He pointed down the hall, where Quinlan was indeed standing, watching them.

Quinlan grinned widely. “He’ll be alright, Obi. Qui-gon’s here. C’mon, let’s go. Garen already called the taxi.”

Obi-wan glanced back to Anakin, but Anakin had already taken another step back and waved. “See you later,” he said cheerfully, then darted back into the ballroom.

...

They slipped out of the ballroom without incident. Obi-wan changed quickly, into a brightly colored sleeveless shirt and ‘stylishly torn’ black pants that Garen had chosen for him. He felt naked without his braid or his cloak or even just basic sleeves, but his arms looked nice, when he snuck a glance in the ‘fresher’s mirror.

Garen and Reeft were turned away, changing into civilian clothes themselves. Obi-wan glanced back to the mirror and mimicked a lightsaber twirl, checking himself out. His arms did look good, though now he felt a rush of regret for his lightsaber, lost forever in the bottom of a reactor shaft.

He hazarded another mock twirl, and the stall door opened. Quinlan locked eyes with his reflection. Obi-wan flushed. Quinlan grinned.

“Shut up,” Obi-wan said.

“I didn’t say anything,” Quinlan replied. He pushed Obi-wan out of the way and twirled in front of the mirror. He wore a royal blue tailcoat that billowed with his movements, and matching eyeliner besides. The yellow strip across his cheekbones and the makeup stood out bright against his dark skin.

“I look good,” he said, and winked at his own reflection. Then he turned and studied Obi-wan. “You’re missing something… here.”

“Oh, come on- Quin!” Obi-wan tried to duck away, but Quinlan grabbed him by the back of the hair so he could smear eyeliner around Obi-wan’s eyes. Obi-wan huffed but allowed it, obediently looking up at the ceiling so Quinlan could work his magic.

“Make those baby blues pop,” Quinlan said, stepping back and kissing his hand like a chef. “There- you’re irresistible now. Complain about me all you like, but I bring up the sexiness of this squad by three octaves.”

“No fair,” Reeft grumbled. “He was already pretty.”

“You’re pretty too, Reeft,” Quinlan said, throwing his arm around Reeft’s shoulder. “Come, boys. Let’s grab the ladies before they get bored and leave without us.”

The ladies, being Bant and Satine, were waiting in the hallway. Obi-wan had thought he was cool and confident. He had the good arms and the baby blue eyes, right? But no, he was not cool nor collected.

Satine had changed from the gown to high-waisted black pants and a silvery cropped shirt that gleamed in the hall light. Her hair fell loose around her face, framing high cheekbones that glittered with silver powder. It was an elegant outfit, as far as clubbing outfits went. Obi-wan’s mouth went dry. He wanted to touch the strip of pale skin exposed between her belt and the hem of her shirt.

“Stop checking each other out and let’s go,” Garen said, grabbing Obi-wan by the back of the shirt and dragging him down the hall. “Taxi’s waiting for us.”

“For a secret relationship, they’re not very good at keeping it secret,” Reeft muttered, loud enough for the whole group to hear as they shoved into a lift to the lower level of the embassy.

Obi-wan grit his teeth, turning around. “I said we were over.”

“We are over,” Satine agreed, nodding. “If we were ever together in the first place.”

“I don’t think we really were,” Obi-wan said. He clasped his wrists, though he had no sleeves to bury his hands in. “It was more just… you pining over me.”

“And you harassing me,” Satine said, shaking her head. “Not very knight-like behavior.”

“You’ve definitely screwed each other,” Quinlan said, turning so his back was to the lift door, looking pleased with himself like he’d figured out some great mystery.

Obi-wan huffed and looked down at his scuffed Jedi boots. He supposed he should get a new pair now that he was a knight, but he didn’t want to deal with the blisters of breaking them in. Next to him, Satine also wore boots- she’d bought them when they were on the run, from a marketplace on some moon. They were practical, fit well, and had cute buckles on the sides. She’d cooed over them when she saw them in the market stall, and Obi-wan had insisted if they made her that happy then she should buy them.

They looked a little more worse for wear now, but something fluttered in his chest at the memory.

The lift dinged as they reached the level where Garen said the taxi would pick them up. Sure enough, a few halls away, there was a landing pad. As soon as they stepped outside, the wind whipped through their hair.

Satine shivered at the wind. “I’m excited to see your world,” she said, stepping closer to him. “Since you’ve seen… too much of my world.”

“I liked your world,” Obi-wan said, brushing his hand against hers. “You have a rich history and a strong people. You, on the other hand, come on a bit strong.”

“Stop,” Bant said, smacking his arm so hard that he knew he’d have another bruise to match the one Yoda had left on his leg.

He shut up, but Satine wrapped her pinky finger around his, and he felt warm inside. He wished they could have more than this one night.

The taxi came. The droid driver groaned when he saw them. “If anybody throws up in my cab, you’re paying double.”

“We’re not drunk yet, my good man,” Quinlan said, vaulting over into the front seat. “Remind us at the end of the night.”

Everybody else had to squeeze into the back. There were three seats for five people- Obi-wan ended up shoved tight between Reeft and Garen, while Bant and Satine perched across their laps. To his chagrin, Bant was on his lap instead of Satine. Satine was on Reeft’s lap. Reeft glanced sidelong at Obi-wan, then held his hands stiffly at his side.

Obi-wan wasn’t the jealous type, but he appreciated the gesture.

Garen wriggled awkwardly to pull a flask from his pocket. He raised it to Obi-wan, then took a gulp and passed it on. Obi-wan took it, wincing as it burned all the way down. “This is straight rocket fuel,” he sputtered, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth and blinking back tears.

“Kinda got the taste for it on that spice runner mission two years ago,” Garen said, shrugging innocently.

“No thanks,” Bant said, waving it off when Obi-wan offered her the flask, so he passed it to Satine next.

She accepted it, but the cab took a sharp turn in the middle of her swig and she choked. She didn’t spill any, but she curled into herself, coughing.

Then she turned to Garen and raised the flask to him. “This is the way,” she said, tears still glittering in her eyes as she threw back another mouthful and handed it on to Reeft.

Quinlan turned around in his seat, snorting. “Did you guys kill our guest already?”

“Not yet,” Reeft said. He sniffed the mouth of the flask, then shook his head. “If this is making the badass Mando Queen cry, then I’m out. Here, Quin.”

Quinlan took it. “To the Mando Queen!” he declared, and knocked back the rest of the flask.

“Please stop,” their driver said softly. His metal eyes glowed sadly. Obi-wan wondered what terrible things he saw in his job.

“I’m a duchess, not a queen,” Satine said, but Obi-wan could feel her pleasure in the Force.

The driver dropped them off in front of a club that glittered with neon. Garen reached forward with a credit stick to pay as everyone else tried to extricate themselves from the back seat.

“I’m too excited for this,” Satine said, grinning over at Bant. “I know I’m a responsible person, but a party on Coruscant? Is this how you live all the time?”

“This is how Quin lives all the time,” Bant said, shaking her head.

A colorful group of Twi-leks laughing at a jokes spoken in Ryl separated their group for a minute. One of them, purple skinned and deep-green eyed, hesitated, dragging his feet as he caught sight of Garen. He smiled widely at him.

“Go get him,” Quinlan said, smacking Garen on the backside as he strode forward. He grabbed Obi-wan’s hand and raised it high. “’scuze us, ladies and gents! Man of the hour coming through!”

Flashing lights and music spilled from the front door, but it was blocked off by a bouncer. Even as they approached, he shooed away a group who groaned and swore at him.

“Quinlan Vos.” The bouncer was a huge man. Half his face was a metal prosthetic, but his derision was clear. “These guys with you?”

“Unfortunately,” Obi-wan said, before Quinlan could reply.

“I pity you,” the bouncer said, shaking his head. But still, he stepped aside to let them in, not even checking their IDs.

The music swelled when they stepped over the threshold. Colored lights flashed through smoke drifting above a dancing crowd.

“You guys grab a table,” Garen whisper-shouted in Obi-wan’s ear. “We’ll grab drinks.”

The tables were on the second level, overlooking the crowd below. A sound-shield warped the air, muffling the music a little so people could talk if they raised their voices. There were other groups, here and there, but it was so dark that Obi-wan couldn’t see faces. He could only sense them in the Force, blurry with alcohol or harder stuff.

Satine pulled her seat closer to Obi-wan, so she could wrap her foot around his under the table. He turned towards her a bit, moved his arm to rest on the small of her back, just under the hem of her shirt. Her skin was warm. It was too dark for anybody to see, but the gleam of Bant’s eyes was accusing.

Reeft didn’t care. He had pulled a datapad from his pocket and was looking up the menu for the place on the net. “I might get cheese fries,” he mused, leaning closer to Bant. “Opinions?”

“Bar food?” Bant asked, turning towards him. “You’re a Jedi. You’re better than that.”

“You’re right. Spicy cheese fries,” he agreed. “I’m gonna do it.”

Quinlan and Garen returned a moment later, balancing full glasses of something that glowed in the light. Obi-wan reached out, grabbing one for Satine before himself. She took it with a wide smile.

When everyone had grabbed their drink, Quinlan held his up.

“Oh, no, please,” Obi-wan said, sinking down in the chair. “Not one of your toasts.”

“Oh yes, Ben, one of my toasts.” Quinlan grinned, looming over the table. “The occasion calls for it.”

Everybody’s amusement was tangible. Obi-wan sank lower in his seat, practically hiding under the table. He abandoned Satine, wrapping both hands around his cup. He wished he had his robe.

“What can I say about Obi-wan Kenobi?” Quinlan asked, holding his glass aloft. “Obi-wan Kenobi is, to put it simply, a paradox. He’s sulky, broods over every little thing, and can hold a grudge like nobody’s business.”

Satine nodded her agreement. Quinlan grinned at the validation. Now he would never shut up.

“Kenobi is bitterly sarcastic. Truthful only from a certain point of view- that being, his own. He will chew you out, dig up your deepest flaws, and make you want to curl up in a ball and weep at your own inferiority.”

Obi-wan rubbed his hand over his face. “Vos, I hardly think-”

“No, let him speak,” Satine said, slapping a hand over Obi-wan’s mouth.

Quinlan moved around the table to set a hand on Obi-wan’s shoulder, tailcoat fluttering like a bright robe. “And yet, even when he destroys you, you want to thank him. Because he is one of the best friends you will ever find.”

“Please stop,” Obi-wan whispered.

Quinlan rubbed his hand across the back of Obi-wan’s shoulder. Obi-wan was pretty sure it was meant to relax him, but he wanted to disappear. Bant and Reeft and Garen were watching, all amused. Soon it would be their turns, Obi-wan thought venomously. Just because Quinlan was the first to be knighted, he thought he was some sort of older brother welcoming his little siblings to the adult world. He was not. He was obnoxious.

He didn’t dare look at Satine. But he could feel her there- not Force sensitive, but shining bright all the same.

“Kenobi is loyal. He would die for anyone of us, right now- that includes you, pretty lady.” Quinlan gave Satine a little two-fingered salute. “He’s smarter than your average nerf-herder. And he’s hell with a blade. I still have burns from that beating he gave me the other day.” 

Obi-wan heaved a sigh. “Are you done?”

Quinlan leaned down, draping his arm around Obi-wan’s shoulders. “This guy right here,” he said, “is gonna be a hell of a knight. The entire galaxy- every single person he’s saved, every single person he will save- is unspeakably lucky that he’s a Jedi.”

Obi-wan pressed his lips tightly together. He preferred the insults.

Quinlan let the words hang a bit- they were all the more serious coming from the funny guy. Then he raised his glass. “To Knight Kenobi.”

There was an answering chorus around the table. Obi-wan ducked his head, not entirely certain if he was supposed to drink or just sit there and look embarrassed. Maybe he would die for these idiots tonight- he’d throw himself off the edge of the second floor into the dancing throng below just to get away from the attention.

He took a long mouthful of the drink he’d been given. It was too sweet and not strong enough.

“Oh, you made him sulk,” Garen said, reaching across the table to smack Quinlan’s arm. “Look at that pout.”

“Sulk all you want, Kenobi.” Quinlan said, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “I only speak the truth. Finish that up. I want a dance too.”

…

One drink Kenobi was not interested in dancing with Quinlan.

Two drink Kenobi put his hand on Satine’s leg under the table, rubbing little circles with his thumb and wondering when it was acceptable to escape his friends and drag her off to enjoy what little time he had. Reeft talked about his last mission, where he’d apparently taken out some giant mech and saved a village (Obi-wan guessed there was some exaggeration involved. No offense meant, but when it came to straight up combat, Reeft was not the one to go to.)

Three drink Kenobi got tired of waiting and took the night into his own hands. He took Satine’s hand, leading her down the stairs to the bar. A wave of his hand had shots their way- he passed one to Satine and knocked back his own.

“It’s blue,” Satine giggled, holding it up to the flashing light. “What’s it called?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He told her, his lips close enough to brush her ear. “It’s good.”

She turned, grinning at him. The colored lights caught off her hair and the shimmering dust on her cheekbones when she threw back the liquor. He took the glass from her, set it on the bar, then caught her waist. “How about that dance?” he asked, pulling her forward into the sweating, thrashing crowd.

She set her hands on his shoulders, smiling widely. “You know, Ben, I think I would appreciate that.”

He led her forward, spun her around, then caught her against his body. It was hot- her skin sheened slightly with sweat and highlighter. Her hair smelled smoky when he kissed her cheek.

She pushed him back, stopping suddenly. “I’m not… leading you on, am I?”

It was almost too loud to hear her. He leaned close, pressing his lips to her jaw. “Do you want to stop?”

She pressed into him, her arms traveling up under his shirt, her hands tracing over his back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He mimicked her, feeling her up under the back of her shirt. She was slim, toned. A fighter’s body, despite her pacifist views. He went slow, tracing over her waist, her spine. “I don’t want to hurt you either,” he said, and then pushed her away. “I’m… not. Am I?”

She gazed up at him, eyes bright. “You’re not, as long as I’m not.”

He sucked in a breath of smoky air. She was so perfect. It hurt, knowing they couldn’t be together. Knowing that even this- one night, with no attachment- was wrong. That these feelings were wrong.

But he was the one who struggled with attachment, and Satine should not have to suffer his weakness.

“I’m not, so long as you’re not,” he replied.

She smiled weakly, then straightened up to kiss him. Then she set his hands firmly on his shoulders. “Then I will have that dance, Sir Knight.”

He pulled his hands free of her shirt and set them on her waist. “I will oblige, Lady Duchess.”

The song changed to something fast and obnoxious, but they were alone in the crowd. Obi-wan didn’t match the beat. He deliberately slowed, swaying with her. She dropped her head to his chest, tilted her chin up to smile at him. The Force enveloped them, flowed between them. He could feel every beat of her heart in his own chest.

They were one, alone in the night, and if he could live in that moment forever, he would have without a second thought.

…

“Is anybody going to stop them?” Bant asked when Obi-wan not-so-surreptitiously spirited Satine away from the table.

“Let them have their fun,” Quinlan said, waving a hand. “Kenobi needs it.”

Bant pursed her lips. “He really doesn’t, Quin. You were on mission when he got back from Mandalore so you didn’t see him. He was…” She hesitated, trying to think of the correct word.

“Pining,” Reeft supplied, standing up. “He was pining, which is stupid, because he always does this to himself. Gets attached and then gets all sad about it. I’m getting food and another beer. Anybody want anything?”

“A water, if you could?” Bant asked.

Quinlan tossed a credit chip through the air. Though it was dark and he was already slightly tipsy, Reeft’s Jedi instincts let him reach and grab it. “Grab me something too.”

“Will do.” Reeft looked around, spotted Garen standing at the edge by the rail. His shoulders were set in a brooding stance that Bant didn’t like. “Garen?” Reeft called.

Garen turned, smiled. “Yeah… I’ll have whatever Quin’s having.”

Quinlan got up as well. “I’ll go with you,” he said, falling into step with Reeft. “Maybe I’ll even check on the happy couple, make sure they’re not too happy.”

The two disappeared through the dark crowd, leaving Bant and Garen with the table.

She alone was sober. She didn’t like alcohol. She didn’t like how it blurred her connection to the Force, made her feel unsteady. She didn’t like how it made people stupid. She didn’t like how the dehydration made her skin dry and itchy the next day. As it was, the dry smokiness of this club would make her break out tomorrow. She suspected it hit her worse for being an aquatic species, but she didn’t begrudge her friends their pleasures.

Though it did worry her sometimes. Obi-wan especially, seemed a little too comfortable around a bottle. It wouldn’t have worried her, except that he was also the one who had the most trouble with attachment and passion.

And Obi-wan did not feel steady to her right now. Between Mandalore and Naboo, Bant suspected that he didn’t need a knighting and a new padawan. What he needed was a meditative retreat and a time to slow down and find his center in the Force.

She got up and walked over to Garen, looking down at the dancers below. It only took her a second to pinpoint Obi-wan- his Force signature was foggy now that he was intoxicated, but still clearly him.

“They were making out a second ago,” Garen said conversationally. He felt blurry too, though he stood steady and his speech was normal.

Right now, Obi-wan and Satine weren’t kissing, but they were close enough that they might as well have been. They were identical to every other couple on the floor, not so much dancing as swaying with the beat. It was hard to tell with the light, but Bant thought Obi-wan had his hands under Satine’s shirt. Satine was certainly feeling Obi-wan up, pale hands wandering over his back and shoulders.

“How does he do it?” Garen asked, leaning down on the rail. “Just… disregard the Code like that?”

“He does not,” Bant said quickly. “The Code doesn’t forbid physical affection- only being attached to the object-”

“Bantha shit,” Garen spat. “Obi-wan’s as attached as I ever saw him.” He huffed, glowering down. “I should have been knighted instead. I’m ready. And I’m not attached to anything. I never left the Order.”

Oh dear.

“We will all be knighted in our time,” Bant said, reaching out to touch his hand. “You must have patience.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Easy for you to say- you’re the picture of patience. You deal with us.”

“I do,” she agreed, feeling a flicker of annoyance. “And you know Obi-wan being knighted first is not a reflection on you, but a reflection of the circumstances on his last mission. So why are you jealous? Why the passion, Garen?”

She felt his annoyance through the Force- not anger. He would never be mad at her. But annoyance, certainly.

“I’m not jealous,” he said sullenly.

She remained silent, waiting. The colored lights played over his features, highlighting his handsome face, his normally easy-smiling lips.

He didn’t immediately speak, but he was not nearly as good at brooding as Obi-wan. She brushed his mind with the Force, letting him feel her support. He barely resisted, shields lowering for their friendship bond.

He was in turmoil. She could feel it, a complex whorl of emotion that he didn’t quite understand himself. She set a hand on his arm, waited for him to collect his thoughts.

“The mission was… successful,” he said finally. “You know it was my first solo mission, and I… I was amazing.” He sucked in a breath. “It all went smoothly. I’m a pilot. I mean, that’s just what I do best. So they sent me to find some lost explorers in the Lycaon Nebula out past Arcadia.”

Bant nodded. “And?”

“I found them,” he whispered. “And they… I mean, they were there for a while. And they… they…”

Bant squeezed his arm.

“They kriffing ate one of their crew,” he whispered. “Killed her and ate her. I-“ He sucked in a breath. “I found the corpse on the bio-scanner. I mean, the bones. They threw her out the airlock. She was the youngest of the crew. Still a student. Not even our age. The most disposable.”

“That’s terrible,” Bant said softly. The poor girl.

Garen shook his head, rubbed his hand over his face. “She… I…. She was…”

Bant waited.

“Her last name-“ He broke off, breath hitching.

Oh no. Bant opened her bond to him, let him feel her support. “It was Muln, wasn’t it?”

He nodded miserably, slumping against the rail. “I knew I was looking for… my… my… my sister when I read the docket. And I was so… I was so good, Bant. I kept my head. I knew it was a test, but I remained calm and followed the clues and didn’t- but then I found her body and there were vibroblade marks on her bones and she was just… disposable. I was too late.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Bant said, putting her arm around his shoulders. “Oh Garen. I’m sorry.”

“Two days,” he whispered. “If I had been two days earlier, I would have saved her and the rest of the crew. It wasn’t supposed to be… I mean, who the fuck just panics and eats their crewmate?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she repeated.

“I’m not even attached,” he spat, gripping the rail. “I’m… I’m upset, but I’m not… I’m not attached. She may have been my sister, but… I mean, you’re my Sister.”

Bant heard the capital ‘S’ in the word. Despite the tragic story, she felt warmed by it.

“But then I was thinking about… about siblings, and family, and… what could have been, you know?” He shifted, gripping her webbed fingers tight. “And now Obi and Satine down there… they’d have cute kids, you know?” He gestured down at the couple. “She makes him so happy. He feels so light right now. And I wonder if… I mean, nobody’s happy as a Jedi.”

“Garen?” Bant squeezed his hand. He was feeling it now, his signature blurring as the booze kicked in.

He shook his head sharply. “I’m not talking about leaving. Don’t worry. I’m not. I am a Jedi. But I just… don’t you ever wonder? Maybe if… if I wasn’t a Jedi- if I was there with my family, then maybe she would still be...“

“Then she would never have been found,” Bant said firmly. “Her body would never have been recovered. You and your parents never would have had closure. It was the will of the Force that you could recover her. Your mission was a success, Garen. I can see this.”

“My parents didn’t recognize me,” he whispered. It was so low that she heard the words through their bond more than through his breath. “I brought her body back in that box and I… I said sorry for their loss… and I… they looked at me… they just… they just saw a Jedi. I didn’t tell them my name.”

“And that’s what you are,” she said, rubbing her thumb over the top of his hand. “You are a Jedi, Garen.”

“I didn’t tell them who I was,” he whispered, like a confession. “I just… sort of… bowed. And walked away. And I… it’s just… it was so fucked up, Bant.” He sucked in a breath. “The whole thing was so twisted.”

“I know.” She continued rubbing circles on the back of his hand. “But you did the right thing. You did everything according to the Code.”

His breathing was unsteady. “I did,” he agreed. “I was a Jedi. I acted as a Jedi.”

“You are a Jedi,” she said, and squeezed his hand.

He remained slumped for a moment more. Then he took a deep breath and straightened up. Despite having been drinking, she felt him steady himself, breathing slow into the Force. His tension drained as he let it go, accepting his reality. He had made his decision, and he was confident in it, even if it had been difficult.

But Bant felt less sure. She looked down at the crowd, watching as Quinlan twirled and grinded his way through to Obi-wan and Satine. Their close embrace parted to make room for Quinlan, the three of them jumping around each other like idiots. Idiots that were, for the moment, happy.

Happy, only because they were drunk and pretending that they were normal young adults, without entire worlds resting on their shoulders. Bant’s fingers closed tighter around the rail as Garen stepped away, back to the table where Reeft had returned with food and a few more beverages. Garen was already laughing at something Reeft said, his mind lightened by talking. But now Bant carried the heaviness of his mission, of the test the Council had given him. But it was a test that he passed, despite how badly it had blown up, and she guessed he would be recommended to start preparing for the Trials soon, once everything blew over with Obi-wan.

But she would be tested too, she knew. Whether tested by the Council, or by life itself, her conviction would be under fire. The question was whether it would break her or harden her resolve. But she thought about Obi-wan crying about that Melida-Daan girl and poor Bruck Chun so many years ago, and Bant worried for her own future.

Her hands trembled as she held onto the rail. Then she took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. She let her fear follow the path of her breath, let it flow through her and into the Force. She would not hold onto it. She was a Jedi, and she would be strong.

She turned from the rail, walking back to the table to see what Reeft had gotten to eat. She didn’t want any for herself, but she was morbidly intrigued by what greasy fare this place served.

…

Quinlan twirled Satine around. She laughed, falling into his chest and grabbing his arms to spin him with her. Then she flung out an arm to grab Obi-wan’s hand. He linked fingers with her, then with Quinlan, and the three of them formed in a circle like children, stumbling and laughing at each other.

Eventually Satine stopped. She kissed Quinlan’s hand and let it go, then did the same for Obi-wan. “‘Fresher,” she said to Obi-wan. “Be right back. Grab me another drink if you get something.”

Then she sauntered off through the crowd. She did not duck or weave through the flailing elbows. She simply walked in a straight line, and the crowd unconsciously moved around her.

Quinlan pursed his lips. “I know she’s not supposed to be Force sensitive, but I think she has a touch of- stop staring, Obi, she’ll be back in a few. C’mon, drinks.” He grabbed Obi-wan’s arm, dragging him in the opposite direction towards the bar.

Obi-wan followed obediently. They got to the bar. Quinlan was content to wait in line but Obi-wan simply strode up. A space magically appeared between a Twi-lek and a Tholothian. Obi-wan stepped forward, flashed three fingers at a bar tender, and three electric blue shots instantly appeared in front of him. Not a single word was spoken. Obi-wan immediately downed his, then took the other two and handed one to Quinlan.

“Is he mind tricking the bartender?” Quinlan murmured to himself. Then he shook his head.

“I’m fucked,” Obi-wan said suddenly, grabbing Quinlan’s arm. “I love her.”

Oh. Oh dear. Quinlan took his own shot from Obi-wan’s hand, downing it. It was less to drink it and more to buy time to decide how to deal with his brother-in-arms, but no real inspiration came. “Now, Obi, that’s not a very Jedi thing to say.”

“I kriffing know that,” he hissed. “Why’d you invite her?”

“Now what makes you think I was the one to-”

But Obi-wan’s eyes blazed, and Quinlan knew he was caught.

“I didn’t know it was that serious,” Quinlan said, backpedaling. “I thought it was a fling! Everyone has flings on long missions!”

“Of course it was serious,” Obi-wan snapped. “Did you even see her?”

“She’s a scary blonde,” Quinlan said. “Yeah. Right. You like scary blondes. Guess I didn’t think-”

“She’s more than a scary blonde,” Obi-wan muttered, turning away, mood shifting from aggressive to sullen.

Ah kriff, Quinlan thought. “Look, if it means that much to you, I can get between-”

“No. No. I want her.” He shook his head. “I’m… I apologize. I let my emotion-“

“Hey, no apologizing.” Quinlan slapped his shoulder. “It’s your day. Plus you’re drunk. No attachment, right? But friends-with-benefits isn’t bad.” He grabbed Obi-wan’s chin, tilting it up so he could look his friend in the eye. “You be with her and not be attached. It’s okay.”

Obi-wan slapped Quinlan’s hand away, but relaxed a second later. “It doesn’t matter anyways,” he added. “What I feel. Ani matters most.”

“Mmm, no, you still matter too,” Quinlan said. “Your lady’s coming back,” he added, spotting Satine across the way.

All trace of whatever mood Obi-wan had fallen in vanished. He darted over to her, handing her the drink. She held it up to Obi-wan, downed it in one mouthful, handed the shot glass back to him, and started chattering about the friend she’d made in the refresher. A girl visiting from Alderaan, apparently. They’d worn the same brand of highlighter on their cheekbones and vowed to be friends forever.

“I already forgot her name,” Satine moaned, sliding her arms up over Obi-wan’s shoulders.

Quinlan watched them for a second, but when Obi-wan never turned back to him, he left them to it. Obi-wan wasn’t completely broken inside yet, not like Quinlan was. He deserved a nice night, and Quinlan would not be the one to break that up. He wished he himself could feel something like that.

He walked up to the bar, flashed one finger at the bartender. But he did not Obi-wan’s gift, and he had to order his own.

…

Obi-wan kissed her. His mouth tasted like booze and his arms wrapped tight around her, hands wandering more than was proper. She loved it, pressing herself to him, feeling the Force around her like a great ocean that held her safe and secure.

She could not be with him, but she had accepted that a long time ago. He was a great Jedi. He would be a great Master, someday. And she would be a great leader, she hoped, and when their paths crossed they would collide like a supernova then return to their respective orbits.

A supernova. They were a supernova. Burning swift and hot and leaving a black hole behind.

He wandered, kissing over her jaw and down to her collarbone. His lips sent tingles of nerves down her body. She wanted him- she was done dancing here. She wanted to be alone so they could bask in this moment together. It was nice to meet his friends but she never wanted to see them again. She only wanted him, wanted to fall into her bed with him and lose herself in his presence.

She pushed his face away. He resisted, nipping her collarbone. Her skin flushed at his teeth.

“No,” she murmured. It was too quiet for him to hear, but somehow he did. He jerked back like he’d been slapped, wide-eyed and confused.

She had to laugh at the befuddled expression, and she patted his cheek. “I mean not here,” she said, reaching under his shirt, running her hands over his hips. “We should go somewhere else. Would your friends mind?”

He opened his mouth to reply. She slid her hands over his skin, over the crests of his hips, bringing them slowly together down his lower belly. She stopped at his belt, glancing up at his face.

Obi-wan’s mouth was still half open, like he’d forgotten what he was going to say.

She laughed at his expression, then stood on her toes to kiss him.

“Yeah,” he said dumbly when she pulled back again. “We can get out of here.”

She beamed, then grabbed his arm and dragged him away through the crowd, out the door.

The bass followed them out onto the street, still thumping in her chest. She shivered at the chilly night air, and this time Obi-wan put an arm around her shoulders as they started walking.

The streets of the entertainment levels were crowded. The colored lights and spectacular outfits were dazzling to Satine, accustomed as she was to Mandalore’s destruction and construction. Neon signs advertised in so many languages. Species from across the galaxy darted about the roadways. Speeders swooped overhead and down below, their slipstreams tossing her hair if they got too close.

“There’s so much here,” she said, keeping close to Obi-wan’s side. This was how the wealthy of Coruscant spent their evening, in luxury. A group of humans passed around a deathstick in the shadow of another bar. The smoke tickled her nose. “It’s so loud.” No matter how she craned her head, she couldn’t catch all the details. Snatches of music and smells and sights bombarded her, too quick for her muddled brain to keep up.

“It’s… home, I suppose.” Obi-wan looked around like he was taking it in for the first time. “It’s… I mean, you know. It’s Coruscant.”

“It’s Coruscant,” she mimicked, rolling her eyes. “You live in this wealth and you just scoff at it. You’re a simple Jedi and you live a more extravagant life than I do.”

“I don’t,” he said, stopping short. The group walking behind them nearly ran into them. Someone cursed at them as they walked around. But Satine didn’t care. She privately grinned, then turned to Obi-wan, feeling giddy.

“You do,” she insisted. “We have to make domes of air so we don’t inhale the radiation in our atmosphere. You have access to an entire planet of wealth.”

“No,” he shot back. “I… this place isn’t great. It’s so polluted that we’re probably going to have to get our lungs replaced just from standing here now.” He pointed at a passing speeder just to prove his point. It sputtered black smoke from its engines when the pilot tried to rise into a higher lane.

“But you can get your lungs replaced with no personal cost, because you’re a Jedi,” she pointed out.

He was definitely feeling it, because that stumped him. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. Finally he grumbled, “kriffing hells, you’re right. And Republic taxes are paying for it. You’re paying for my new lungs.”

“Mhmm. Me personally.” Satine let him mull that over for a second, then linked her hands with his.

“You can have one of them though,” he said, raising their held hands between them. “I’ll split my transplant with you. For your radioactive lungs.”

“Aww, Ben.” She patted his cheek, then grinned. “I will have to give you something in return for your lung.”

She thought very hard about what she could do for him, hoping he would pick up on her line of thought. He flushed- the color was awkward in the dark and neon lighting of the street. “I think that will be… sufficient payment,” he said. “For a lung.”

“You want to call a taxi, or shall I?” She asked, snaking her arms up around his neck. “I have quite a nice hotel room- a treat of the Chancellor’s, I believe. It even had a view of your Temple.”

“I could take you there instead,” Obi-wan murmured. He leaned down to kiss her neck again, but he drew back to speak. “Ani is with Qui-gon. I have my own-“

“No,” she said, but her head spun with the thought. Sneaking into the mysterious Jedi Temple, giggling and falling over each other as he showed her where he’d grown up? That was the fantasy. She wanted to, more than ever, and she almost caved. But if they got caught, he would be ruined. Even this, on the dark street… she reluctantly pushed him away.

She wanted to ask him about Anakin too, now that he’d mentioned the boy. How he felt about being a new master. Tell him that he would be wonderful. But she didn’t, because that would be too deep, too emotional. She could not let herself connect with him on more than an acquaintance level.

He sulked a moment at the distance between them, but then his eyes focused on something behind her. “There!” He said, and grabbed her.

And then they were running, flying down the street towards the taxi parked on the edge. Obi-wan waved a hand at the droid driving it.

They arrived at the same time as another couple- a human man and a twi-lek woman.

“This is ours,” the man said to Obi-wan as he opened the side door of the speeder. “Catch the next one, friend.”

“We saw it first,” Obi-wan replied, drawing himself up straight. “It’s ours.”

“Oh please,” the Twi-lek muttered, rolling her eyes at Satine. “Men, right?”

“Right,” Satine said, in female solidarity. But she wanted the most of her time with Obi-wan. She wanted to be back at her suite with him, not pettily arguing with another couple over a taxi. She squeezed his hand.

The other man had drawn himself up as well. He had a good six inches and forty pounds on Obi-wan, but Obi-wan was no doubt better trained, and had the Force.

“We need this speeder,” he said firmly. “It’s Jedi business.”

“Jedi business?” The man burst out laughing. “A Jedi? You? You don’t even look like-“

“You will let us take this.”

The laughter died. “What?” The man asked, eyes glazing.

Satine felt the Force drawing in around him. It made the air electric, made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

“You will step aside and let us take this taxi,” Obi-wan repeated, physically leaning forward into the command. Drunk or not, power crackled like static around him.

The man stared at Obi-wan, blinking rapidly, then nodded. “I will step aside and let you take this taxi,” he agreed. He stepped aside, stumbling on a broken bit of walkway.

His girl caught him. “Jedi,” she breathed, wide-eyed. Then her eyebrows furrowed. “Jedi! You can’t just use your powers to-”

But Obi-wan had no time for her. He pulled the door open for Satine.

No harm had been done. Obi-wan’s will had already lifted from the man- he was blinking in confusion, then he swore loudly.

Satine stepped into the speeder, sitting primly on the seat. Obi-wan slid in beside her, sitting a few inches apart. “This is a bad idea,” he murmured, almost unconsciously.

Satine raised an eyebrow, turning towards him. “We don’t have to-“

“But I want to,” he breathed. His eyes gleamed in the low light. “I want you,” he amended.

She had a bad feeling too. But she gave the hotel to the cab driver anyways, then took his hand and kissed it. “No attachment,” she promised.

“No attachment,” he agreed.

…

“Anybody see Obi-wan?”

The group had gathered outside the club, ready for food. But they were missing two notable members, and as they exchanged looks, everybody knew where they were.

“Hell, Quin,” Garen said, turning. “Why’d you even invite her?”

“She seemed fun,” Quinlan said, shrugging innocently. “How was I supposed to know that they’d get all slutty over each other?”

Everybody glared at him. He winced. “Fine, fine. I should have guessed it. I’ll handle it.”

His idea of handling it was to pick up his comm and type a quick message- I’ll pick you up when you wanna come back to Temple just gimme a call :P - and then make sure his comm wasn’t on silent.

“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get food.”

…

Now that they’d decided how to spend their evening, it was though a switch flipped. Obi-wan couldn’t touch her. He wanted to. He wanted to set his hand on her thigh as they rode in the cab. He wanted to put his arm around her shoulders as they walked through the lobby. She was a sun and he was merely a comet, melting into plasma as he orbited around her, unable to make contact.

They were alone in the elevator, its mirrored walls reflecting them a thousand times. He looked terrible. The makeup Quinlan had done was smudged down one of his cheeks. It made the permanent circles under his eyes look even darker. He huffed at it, licked his finger and tried to get some of it off.

Satine laughed at him, then grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his face. “Stop. I have soap up in my room. Good soap. It smells nice. I didn’t know you were a makeup guy.”

“Quin is the makeup guy,” Obi-wan muttered, letting his hand go limp in her grasp. “Not me. I don’t have time or care about-”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” she quickly amended, shaking his hand roughly to make him shut up. His fingers flopped limply. “It makes your eyes pop.” She moved his hand to his face, pressing his own palm to one of his eye sockets. “They’re so blue. Like that place- that planet where your friend comes from. Bant.”

“Well yours are too,” he pointed out, then tugged his hand free of her grasp. “Our children would have blue eyes too.”

She winced. “Ben-”

He realized the implication, grimaced, backpedaled. “I mean, if that were to be, which it would never- because we can never- I didn’t mean-”

“I know. It’s alright. Shut up.” She turned away, but the mirror meant he could still feel her glower.

“Qui-gon has blue eyes,” he said in the most conversational tone he could muster. “So does Anakin. It really doesn’t mean anything- have you met Anakin yet? He’s my padawan. I’m a master now. The Council is pissed at me. But he’s the Chosen One, at least according to Qui-gon, so…”

Shut up, idiot, he thought to himself. He was rambling, and now she was pissed at him, and he didn’t know how to make it better. Maybe it was better that he didn’t. Maybe he should run as soon as the doors opened.

“You’re on edge,” she said suddenly, her eyes meeting his through the mirror. “What happened on Naboo, Ben? Was it only that you lost your lightsaber? Qui-gon is okay, but you’re still nervous. I feel it.”

He stared at her. “You can’t feel things,” he finally grumbled. “You’re not a Jedi.”

“But I am a woman,” she pointed out.

He raised an eyebrow, made a show of looking her up and down. “I hadn’t noticed.”

She tried to retort. He grinned when she couldn’t think of anything, and then laughed when she smacked his arm.

The elevator doors opened. She pulled him down the hall to one of the rooms, then started feeling through her pockets for her key. Obi-wan didn’t care to wait. He held a hand to the lock, tried to feel for the mechanisms through the Force.

“It’s so complicated,” he moaned, yanking his hand back, betrayed. No doubt, sober, he could unlock it with a thought. But now, all the gears and cogs and computer chips seemed an unfathomable puzzle. He could certainly bust it all open, but he didn’t want Satine to have to pay for it.

“Good try, Master Jedi,” she said, patting his arm, and swiped her keycard to open it instead, sashaying into the room. “You coming?”

“Do or do not,” he muttered, aware that he was pouting but not caring enough to stop. “There is no try.”

She fell back on the wide couch in the center of the sitting area. “Please do not quote your Jedi masters when we’re about to…”

He stepped into the large, open hotel room as well, shutting the door lightly behind him. The lock snicked. Sure enough, the wide window showed a panoramic view of Coruscant. He could see the dome of the Senate lit up in the night. He could see the lights on top of the Temple spires. Speeders raced by in their chaotic traffic lanes.

“When we’re about to what?” he asked sharply when she didn’t elaborate.

She shook her head, laughing. “No. It sounds stupid out loud.”

“Then don’t say it,” he said, letting himself fall to the couch beside her. “We don’t even have to speak.”

She pursed her lips, then hopped up to her knees. “You couldn’t go a minute without speaking,” she said, pressing a hand to his chest. “It would make you explode with all the insults you’re holding in.”

“I could too-” he started, but she cut him off with a kiss.

He tugged on her, pulling her closer. She straddled his lap, hands wandering up under his shirt as she kissed him. Her fingers trailed electricity. It raced through his nerves, set his skin on fire. He nipped her lip, scraping his teeth gently over her skin.

Then he drew back slightly. “Anyways, you’re the one who can’t hold back with the insults,” he said.

She drew back too, withdrawing her hands from where she’d been tracing his ribs. “You- shut up, Kenobi. I said no talking.”

“I am only pointing out-” He broke off in a breathy gasp as she rolled her hips against his, the shock delightfully startling.

Satine grinned at the reaction, then leaned forward to kiss his jaw. “I miss the braid,” she said after a second, her lips ghosting feather-light over his skin. “I’m torn. You can grow your hair out now, but I also liked the braid.”

“Well, I planned on growing it out,” Obi-wan replied weakly, ghosting his hands down her back, then up under her t-shirt. He pushed his palms up under it, feeling the crests of her hips, the narrowing of her waist, the solid curve of her ribs. The fabric of her shirt bunched up around his hands. “If you like it longer.”

She sat straight, ran her fingers through his hair. “I do,” she said. “This padawan haircut is a travesty. Are you going to take off my shirt or just keep wrinkling it?”

He obliged, pulling it up over her head. Her bra was the same midnight color of her dress- the fabric felt sleek as he pushed his hand under it to cup her breast. Inwardly, he liked that they were the same size as his hands, like she was meant for him. He never said it aloud, because he wasn’t sure if she would like the thought too, but he thought it all the same.

She tugged on his shirt as well, pulling it up over his head. He had to let go of her to get out of the sleeves, but then she tossed it aside and pressed herself against him, kissing his mouth. Skin to skin, he could feel her every breath, her every gasp as he nibbled on her lip, ran his tongue over her teeth.

He ran his hands down over her back, then lower, braver now. She responded by rocking against him again, setting one hand against the back of the couch so she could get some force behind it. His breath hitched and he bit her lip a little too hard- she jerked away from the kiss and huffed at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured, then kissed her collarbone butterfly-soft to make up for it. She forgave him, tilting her head to the side as she reached down to undo his belt.

“If you’re going there, I get to go here,” he said, feeling around for the clasp of her bra.

She paused, her fingers infuriatingly light on his lower belly, sending blaster bolts careening through his nerves. The clasp was eluding him. She didn’t remove his belt completely, rather just undid the buckle and the pants’ button and pushed her hands down under the waistband. His fingers fumbled as her touch radiated through his body.

“Having trouble?” she asked him, too innocent.

He grunted at her. She laughed, regrettably pulling her hands away, then unclasped it for him. He sat back, hands hovering, waiting to touch.

Satine raised an eyebrow, then stretched her arms up over her head in an exaggerated yawn. “Well, that was fun,” she said, dropping her arms and patting his cheek. She started to get up. “I guess I’m going to bed.”

“Really?” Obi-wan caught her by the waist, grinning, and tossed her down to the couch. She squeaked in surprise, then hooked a leg around his torso, dragging him down with her. He landed on top of her, kissed her collar bone and then lower. She giggled at his mouth, arching her back.

“I meant we could move this to the bed,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “I was making a joke. But here is fine too- oh!” She arched her back under the nibble of his teeth. “That’s not- the first person you were ever with wasn’t human, were they? Humans aren’t supposed to bite like- ow! No, that was a good ow, don’t stop”

But he did stop, leaning up on his elbows. “Do you actually want to know about the first person I was with?”

She picked her head up, an eyebrow raised. “I- no, Ben, not when you’re on top of me. Don’t be an idiot.”

“You asked,” he muttered sullenly.

“It was rhetorical,” she snapped at him. “What did we say about no talking?”

“You just don’t want to talk because you like me too much and my entire religion says we can’t be together,” Obi-wan said, tracing his hand down over her body. He considered his own words, then laughed at them. It seemed ridiculous now- so simple. They could be together. “But they are not jailors. I have free will to stay or leave.”

Hell, Yoda and Windu hated Anakin anyways. Obi-wan would bring him. He could go to Satine, and she could give him the resources to go buy Anakin’s mother and they could all just… exist. No Code. No nothing. Obi-wan liked Satine’s peaceful cause well enough- he could hang up his lightsaber for her. She needed a better speechwriter anyways, and he was good at that sort of thing.

All she had to do was ask.

His laughter died on his lips when she said nothing.

“Stop, Ben. You’re drunk,” she finally said.

“So? In vino veritas.” He crawled up, pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart fluttered beneath his palm. Her eyes were so bright with her life. He wanted her. He didn’t really want sex. He just wanted her.

“No, Ben.” She pushed him off and sat up, crossing her arms over her chest. “No veritas. No attachments. Can you handle this without expecting anything?”

But sex was all he would be getting, it seemed. He sat back on his heels, nodding. “Sorry,” he added a moment later, for good measure.

“Don’t be sorry, Obi-wan,” she whispered, cupping his face with her hand.

He squeezed his eyes shut at his actual name, at the way her lips formed each letter, memorizing the sound of it. When she kissed him, it was slow and tender. He had to pull away, because he wanted to weep at it.

But weep he did not. He just pushed her down and started to kiss his way down her body, knowing each spot that would make her cry out. If this was all they could have, then he would make it good.

Let Satine Kryze think of Obi-wan Kenobi every time she looked at another man.

Apparently, she had the same idea towards him.

They’d been together for almost a year, never knowing when the next blaster bolt would take one of them in the heart. They had lived life and death together, and they knew everything about each other. They were one, and when they were together, it was as though they’d never been apart.

But they never made it to the bed. Beds were for relationships. Couches were for hookups.

When he came, his vision blacked and the Force crashed through them both in a thunderous tsunami of the past and the future and the infinite cosmic possibilities. It left Obi-wan breathless, his nerves singing with the aftershock. The universe poured through his head, and it all orbited her.

They lay together in silence for a bit. Obi-wan nuzzled his nose into Satine’s chest, wishing to stay forever.

“If that’s what it’s like to be a Jedi, I see why you stay,” Satine finally murmured, stroking little circles over a mostly-invisible burn scar from some old training accident.

“That’s not what it’s like at all,” he said into her skin. He felt burnt out now, emotionally hungover and still drunk. The awareness that if he stayed the night he would beg her to let him stay forever haunted him. “That’s just what it’s like with you.”

She hummed.

He wished she would ask him to stay.                                             

He knew she would not.

“Tell Qui-gon I hope he heals quickly,” Satine said after a moment, sitting up. “I’m going to go shower. I smell like smoke and booze.”

“Not particularly becoming of a Duchess,” Obi-wan jabbed, but it was half-hearted and they both knew it.

She smiled sadly. It seemed to him that her eyes were too bright, but she turned too quickly and he couldn’t tell if it was tears or a trick of the light.

Obi-wan sat on the couch until he heard water running, then he dressed, collected his things, and let himself out. He checked his comm, found a message from Quinlan, and nearly wept in relief at having a ride back to the Temple. He messaged his friend, then waited in a fueling station, pretending to browse the candy bars as he waited for a Temple-issue speeder to appear.

“Hey, buddy,” Quinlan said, then handed Obi-wan a container of food from Dex’s. “Happy Knighting Day.”

Obi-wan grunted and bit into the burger.

Quinlan remained silent for another minute, drumming his fingers on the steering yolk. “It was good though, wasn’t it? I mean, not the emotional turmoil of being star-crossed lovers, but the actual sexy times?”

Obi-wan shot him a glare. “Don’t be crass.”

Quinlan raised an eyebrow.

Obi-wan popped a fry into his mouth. “Yeah,” he said. “It was good. Thanks for picking me up.”

“You’d do the same for me,” Quinlan said, kicking the speeder into gear and taking them back. “You want some advice?”

Obi-wan glowered at Quinlan from over his food, aware that even if he said no, Quinlan would tell him anyways. Quinlan wasn’t much older than Obi-wan. He had no right to act like Obi-wan was the youngling here.

“You need to stop repressing shit and loosen up more often,” Quinlan said, nodding like he was the master and Obi-wan the padawan. “I’m great at it, and look at me. Happy as a space-clam.”

Obi-wan pursed his lips. “You’re a walking trauma case, Vos.”

“Takes one to know one, Kenobi.” Quinlan smiled brightly. “Hey, if we combine all our dead people, you think we’d have enough ghosts to haunt the entire Senate building?”

Obi-wan imagined poor little Cerasi facing down Palpatine. The thought made him smile.

“Probably,” he said.

Chapter Text

Anakin barely slept the night before, excited as he was for his first real day of Jedi lessons. The little braid tugged behind his ear every time he moved his head, a reminder of his new place in life. Every time he dozed off, he jerked back awake, hoping it was morning. Each time, it was still the middle of the night.

At one point the door opened. Anakin sat bolt upright, but the chrono told him it was still the middle of the night, or very, very early morning by some people’s standards. Obi-wan leaned in the doorway a moment. His presence was foggy, his stance clumsy.

“Sorry,” he muttered, waving a hand. “Didn’t know Qui-gon put you in my bed.”

The door closed again, and a moment later there was a thud of someone collapsing on the couch. Anakin padded out barefoot to tell Obi-wan he could have his bed back, but his new master was already asleep, having buried himself in a throw blanket and both his and Qui-gon’s cloaks. Anakin knew enough about drunk people to know there would be no stirring him now, so he didn’t even try. He just went back to bed and tried to sleep.

It didn’t work. Because now he could sense Obi-wan, and he was just waiting for the Jedi to wake up so he could start training.

So he suffered his boring half-doze-half-wakeful existence for another few hours, until he felt Qui-gon wake up in the next room. As soon as he felt the older master stir, Anakin jumped up again. It was still early, but now he could finally get dressed.

He threw on the tunic and leggings he’d been given. There were a lot of layers, but he was pretty sure he’d gotten them all right. At least, when he looked in the mirror, he looked like a Jedi padawan. Soon his braid would be longer too, and then he’d really look like a padawan.

“This is so wizard,” he whispered to his reflection, and allowed himself a moment to throw his arms up in silent excitement. Then he took a deep breath and waved a hand in front of his face. “Calm,” he said to himself. “Like Obi-wan.”

Qui-gon had put on a pot of tea when Anakin stepped out. He still wore his sleep clothes. His hair was pulled back in a loose knot, a few pieces falling around his face. “Good morning, Anakin,” he said, and there was no grogginess to his voice despite the early hour. “Eager to begin, I see. That’s good.”

Anakin nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Are you gonna teach me anything? Or should I wake up Obi-wan?”

Qui-gon chuckled, and gestured over towards the couch, to the mound of cloaks and blanket that was Obi-wan. “You’re welcome to try, although I doubt you’ll get anything useful out of him. I was going to meditate before I returned to the healers.” An irritated look crossed his face as he glanced down at the black and blue inside of his elbow. Anakin could sense that he did not want to return to the healers.

But Qui-gon took a slow, measured breath, and the irritation dissipated like it had never been. “You’re welcome to join me, if you wish.”

“Sure,” Anakin said, shooting a betrayed look towards Obi-wan’s comatose form. He wanted to learn some lightsaber moves, or maybe some of those acrobatics that he’d seen the Jedi do. He didn’t want to sit still and listen to all the other Jedi in the Temple.

But that was what Qui-gon was doing, so that was what Anakin would do as well.

When the tea was done, Qui-gon poured two mugs and handed one to Anakin. Then they took their places on the living room floor, sitting across from each other. Qui-gon grimaced as he lowered himself to the ground, but did not take Anakin’s offered arm for help. Anakin thought maybe he was pushing himself a little too much, but he didn’t think Qui-gon would much appreciate a lecture.

They settled cross-legged, their cups of tea between them. The steam rose in a fragrant curl then dissipated into the rest of the room.

“Close your eyes, young one,” Qui-gon said. “Feel the Force.”

Anakin sighed but did as he was told.

Even with his eyes closed, he could sense everything. Qui-gon, so close, glowing with life where he had been so faint only short time before. Obi-wan, distant and dreamless, like a mirror-black sea under a new moon. Other Jedi close by, separated only by physical walls. Some slept, some awoke. Some had broad awareness as they reached out in morning meditations, others were closed off behind durasteel walls.

Anakin poked around for a few minutes, but he quickly grew bored. He wasn’t sure what the point of the exercise was. He wanted to learn how to use a lightsaber.

“Be at peace,” Qui-gon told him. “You’re trying too hard. Feel the Living Force flow through you.”

Anakin opened one eye. “Wait, the Living Force? Is that the same or different than the normal Force?”

Qui-gon opened his eyes and smiled indulgently. “It is part of the Force. It is the energy that comes from all life. You, myself… I am not sure about Obi-wan anymore. He may be dead.” He waved a hand towards the couch.

Obi-wan made an irritated noise at the sound of his name. Both Anakin and Qui-gon watched to see if he would actually wake up, but he did not.

“Obi-wan too,” Qui-gon amended. “The Living Force is the here and now. It binds all living beings together in the present, and its currents are what move and guide us in the moment.”

Anakin watched the steam rise lazily from the surface of his tea. “Oh. So that’s… that’s kinda what I feel, I think? ‘Cause like, I feel stuff. Like, I know where you guys are. You guys shine.”

Qui-gon’s presence flared with delight, though outwardly he only smiled kindly. “That would explain why you have such a talent for racing as well. You’re in tune with the moment, and you see what will happen next.”

“Okay…” Anakin nodded again. He could wrap his head around that. “So wait, that’s just the present?”

Qui-gon nodded, then took a sip of his tea.

“So how’s Obi-wan able to see the future then?” Anakin narrowed his eyes, trying to puzzle it out. “If the Force is in the present?”

Qui-gon sighed. “Obi-wan is more in tune with the Cosmic Force,” he admitted. “Despite my teachings. The Cosmic Force binds the galaxy together, the past to the future, all things to one another. Both the Living and the Cosmic are connected, and all Jedi are taught to value aspects of both. But it is true some lean more towards one aspect or the other.”

Anakin nodded again. He considered the two sides- the Living and the Cosmic. He considered how the Living made energy and the Cosmic flowed through and he tried to visualize the past and the present and the future.

He should understand. He felt like he should understand. His brain ached with trying to visualize it all.

Qui-gon watched him for a moment. “That was the basic explanation,” he admitted. “But the truth is so much greater than anybody can truly grasp. All we can do is study the Force and attempt to build on the teachings of the past.”

Anakin nodded again, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic as he considered it all. “So then… is one part good and one part evil? Because you guys are different, but you both feel good. But that Sith you fought… He was bad.”

“The Light side and the Dark side are also two aspects,” Qui-gon said, inclining his head. “You must always draw your power from the Light. The Dark is seductive, but it will bring you only pain in the end.”

“Yeah, no, I didn’t plan on being Dark or anything,” Anakin said, scoffing at the mere thought. “I just mean, it’s weird that it’s got all these, like, categories?” He let out a breath. “I didn’t know about any of that before. It’s always just kinda… it’s just there.” He looked up at Qui-gon. “I didn’t even know it was called The Force until you told me what it was.”

“You have much to learn,” Qui-gon agreed, and picked up his tea to take a small sip. “But you will learn. You’re very clever, Anakin. I have no doubt you’ll pick up on everything quick enough.”

Anakin hoped that was true. He took a sip of his own tea as well- it was some spicy blend that made his sinuses tingle, though he couldn’t have named any of the flavors he tasted.

The lecture ended when Obi-wan finally got up. He rolled over, groaned at the light, then glared at Anakin and Qui-gon like they had personally awoken him. Old makeup smeared his eyes like he’d been punched.

“Good morning, Knight Kenobi,” Qui-gon said cheerfully.

Obi-wan grunted and dropped his head back to the pillow for another moment, then got up and dragged himself to the kitchenette.

“Is that what you wore last night?” Qui-gon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t make fun of me, Master. It’s been a long day.” Obi-wan blew on the surface of his tea. The steam swirled in front of his face.

“You… just got up,” Anakin said.

“Exactly.” Obi-wan disappeared into the ‘fresher with his tea. The lock snicked behind him. A second later, Anakin heard water running.

Qui-gon grabbed the end table for support as he stood up. “I should be going,” he said, sighing at his own misfortune. “Hopefully they won’t keep me longer than it takes to draw more blood, but if I don’t see you, enjoy your first official day as a padawan.”

“I will.” Anakin jumped up too, picking up both their mugs. When Qui-gon had gotten dressed and left, he rinsed them out, then settled at the table with his workbook to wait for Obi-wan.

…

Obi-wan was already a better Master than Watto. When Watto was hungover, he was grumpy and snappish and had no problem smacking Anakin across the back of the head if he was too loud. It never actually hurt, because Watto wasn’t exactly strong, but it was annoying and embarrassing if it happened in front of a customer.

He wasn’t sure if he could expect that from Obi-wan, so he stayed quiet when Obi-wan finished showering. But Obi-wan had no such weakness, it seemed. He’d scrubbed his face clean, dressed in fresh robes, and was a Jedi once again.

Now they sat cross-legged on the rooftop garden. The sun had just risen in a brilliant radiance of reds and oranges and purples and pinks. It left Anakin awestruck- Tatooine’s suns rarely put on such a show.

Obi-wan though, had seen none of it.

He sat straight, hands resting lightly on his knees. Anakin tried to mimic his posture, but he couldn’t focus enough to actually meditate. He was too excited- this was his first real day of being a Jedi. The braid tugged lightly on his hair behind his ear. He could sense his bond to Obi-wan strengthened by the ceremony the night before.

“Focus, young one,” Obi-wan said softly.

It was so similar to Qui-gon’s tone of voice earlier that Anakin had a strong sense of deja vu.

They sat so close that their knees touched lightly. The grass was soft and green and alive under them. Anakin couldn’t stop touching it, feeling the flickering life of the natural carpet. How did Obi-wan expect him to simply focus?

Obi-wan opened one eye. “You will be taking meditation lessons,” he said. “It will do you well to have the basics down before classes begin.”

Anakin groaned. “Wait, classes on this? We’re literally just sitting here.”

“Physically, we are just sitting here,” Obi-wan said, nodding. “But within, you are one with the Force.”

Obi-wan was patient and good but Anakin didn’t want to just sit here and meditate. He wanted to do something cool and Jedi.

“Ten more minutes,” Obi-wan said after a second, probably sensing his frustration. “Then we can move on.”

“Okay.” Anakin nodded profusely, set his hands on his knees, and screwed his eyes shut.

Obi-wan got up.

Anakin opened his eyes. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m taking my last ten minutes,” Obi-wan said, raising an eyebrow. “Follow me, if you can.”

“Follow…?”

Obi-wan raised his hands in the air, then hopped forward. Anakin expected a cartwheel, but he stopped halfway in a handstand. His cloak pooled down around his shoulders and on the ground.

“Come on,” Anakin groaned. “I’m not a circus person.”

“Neither am I,” Obi-wan said, balancing one foot against his other leg in an upside down tree pose. “Focus, young one.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. He could definitely do a handstand maybe. He used to be able to, at least, but he hadn’t tried in a few years now.

He copied Obi-wan, trying to cartwheel into it, but he had too much momentum and fell with a thud onto the grass.

“More control,” Obi-wan called helpfully. He released his leg and flipped gracefully back to his feet. “It takes focus, my padawan.”

Anakin liked how Obi-wan called him padawan.

“I can focus, my master,” he said, and tried again. This time he caught the handstand, but swayed dangerously and crashed to the ground again.

“Focus on one spot,” Obi-wan said, stepping over. “Use your core to stabilize your body.”

“I don’t have abs,” Anakin pointed out. “Are you actually using your muscles, or just holding yourself with the Force?”

“It’s all about practice,” Obi-wan said. “Balance. Repetition. Focus.”

“You’re just saying buzzwords,” Anakin said. He leaned down, planted his hands on the ground, and kicked up in the air.

But this time he tapped into his powers- the Force- drawing it to him. Instead of picking up a tool from across the room or scattering sand in the air, he gathered it into his own body, holding himself in the air.

Smugly, he planted one foot against his other leg like Obi-wan had. It did take focus to hold it, but not as much as Obi-wan said. Anakin could already move stuff. Moving his own body wasn’t much of a stretch.

It was easier this way. He didn’t waver or lose his balance at all. “Got it,” he said smugly.

Obi-wan dipped his head, not commenting on Anakin using the Force instead of his own muscle. “Good. Now we hold it for that last ten minutes.”

“Wait, what?”

Obi-wan grinned, then dropped his cloak on the ground and flipped back into a handstand as well. He did not have to use the Force to hold it.

Anakin grit his teeth, focusing on holding himself up. It was easier to use the Force here in the Temple though. It was closer, more pure, than it had been on Tatooine. It was like the presence of so many Force-users amplified it.

After a minute though, he started to feel the tension in his arms.

After a minute and thirty seconds, another master-padawan team joined them in the garden, a few yards away. The new presence distracted Anakin. His focus slipped and he swayed as he tried to catch his balance again.

He caught his balance, but now his body trembled. He stole a glance at Obi-wan- his master was perfectly serene, eyes closed.

Anakin grit his teeth, gathered the Force to him in sheer will, and held himself. His shoulders burned. His arms trembled. He would be as good as Obi-wan.

Ten minutes. How long had it been?

A breeze kicked up. It rustled through the trees overhead and carried the odor of speeder exhaust and pollution.

The other Jedi nearby drew their lightsabers. The sound startled Anakin. He caught himself again. Sweat rolled down his face and into his hair.

He opened his eyes again. He hadn’t realized he shut them. The other pair- an old master and a teenager- were doing a slow series of movements with their lightsabers. They were graceful and perfectly in sync with each other.

Anakin wondered if he’d ever be that in sync with Obi-wan. They were still very different. Obi-wan was graceful and effortless. His body was perfectly in balance, his body perfectly aligned from his shoulders to his hips to his legs. He had set one foot against the other leg again, and even those angles were perfect, his bent knee forming a right triangle. Anakin was not nearly as graceful. This was not a natural position to hold.

“Six minutes left,” Obi-wan murmured. “You’re doing well.”

The praise threw Anakin’s focus. He tried to catch his balance, kicking a leg, then crashed down with a thud. His shoulders burned. His face did too, when he saw the other Jedi look over at him.

Anakin grit his teeth, then kicked back into the handstand. But this time he could barely hold it for ten seconds. His muscles trembled, and his control of the Force slipped through his mind. He fell again, and lay in the ground staring up at the pale morning sky. “Being a Jedi is hard,” he said.

“Yes.” Obi-wan flipped over, landing in a crouch and shifting to lotus position beside Anakin. “It is not an easy life.”

Anakin glanced over at the other Jedi team. They weren’t even paying attention to Obi-wan or Anakin. They were just doing those exercises, not fighting, but moving with their lightsabers.

“When do we do that?” Anakin asked, sitting up. The burn was starting to fade from his shoulders now.

Obi-wan glanced over. “We’ll start with the basics today. But we’ll advance more when I make a new lightsaber.”

“Oh yeah.” Anakin crossed his legs too. “I forgot you lost it.”

Obi-wan’s mouth tightened. “I feel naked without it,” he admitted. “I would rather go to Ilum sooner than later.”

“Ilum?”

Obi-wan nodded. “The planet we find our kyber crystals.”

“Couldn’t you just use a random crystal?” Anakin asked as he shook the tension out of his wrists.

“I suppose,” Obi-wan said, tilting his head slightly. “Mechanically. But the kyber crystals are Force-sensitive. The crystal chooses the Jedi. It is why each lightsaber is so personalized to the Jedi who wields it.”

“Oh. Cool. When do I get to make a lightsaber?”

“When you’re a bit older,” Obi-wan said, leaning back into his hands as well. “I was eleven when I made mine.”

“Huh. Was that when Qui-gon picked you?” Anakin leaned forward, excited to learn something new about Obi-wan.

“Uh- no. I became his apprentice later.”

Anakin was going to ask Obi-wan to elaborate, but Obi-wan hopped to his feet. “Come. We must catch you up with your agemates.”

…

Apparently, what Obi-wan meant was that he had a vigorous training regime planned. It was a few short minutes later that they stripped their outer layers down to simple tunic and leggings and were running on the track overlooking several sparring arenas. Rather, Obi-wan was running, and Anakin was panting and switching between sprinting and stopping to catch his breath. Obi-wan was definitely holding back for Anakin- his run was an easy lope, and he barely broke a sweat. Anakin, on the other hand, was a mess. His breath burned his throat.

He could do a short sprint, but nobody simply ran on Tatooine. You were more likely to pass out from heat exhaustion than to actually get anywhere.

But he pushed himself as hard as he could, only stopping to walk for a few seconds to catch his breath before chasing his new master once again.

When Anakin thought he was actually going to pass out and die, Obi-wan stopped short. Anakin sent silent praise up to the Twins that they were done, until Obi-wan turned and said, “Good warmup. It will get easier as you grow more accustomed to it.”

“Warm… up?” Anakin panted, feeling betrayed.

…

Next was lightsaber training. Anakin was so excited he almost forgot how he was already tired, until he learned they would not be actually fighting each other yet. Instead, Obi-wan found two training lightsabers and led him through a series of simple movements. Simple, until the upteenth repeat when Anakin’s muscles were burning and the odd balance of the lightsaber made it feel like it weighed a billion pounds.

And of course, Obi-wan didn’t struggle at all. After the first few repeats, he deactivated his saber and started watching Anakin. Every few forms Anakin would feel a gentle tap to bring his elbow higher or deepen his lunge. He felt clumsy and stupid, though there was nobody else in the private room to see them.

“When do we get to fight each other?” Anakin finally asked, dropping his burning arms even though Obi-wan hadn’t technically given him permission to stop.

“You must learn the moves first,” Obi-wan said with a little smile. “But you’re doing well, for your first time holding a lightsaber.”

“But I don’t get it,” Anakin said, giving the glowing blade a little swing. It hummed through the air, leaving a slight electrical smell behind. “How is just doing those moves over and over supposed to teach me how to actually fight? What do I do when I have to fight the Sith too?”

“The lightsaber is an extension of your body,” Obi-wan said. “And repetition will help it become such. The forms you practice now will be the basis of all the other forms. When they are ingrained in your head and your heart, you will build on them. It isn’t something one simply picks up overnight.”

“But I already have them memorized,” Anakin grumbled.

“But do your muscles have them memorized?” Obi-wan raised an eyebrow. “It is not enough to know the forms in your head. You must live and breathe them. There is no thought when you’re under attack or defending innocent lives. There is only do or do not.”

Anakin groaned.

Obi-wan was quiet for a second, then he took pity on Anakin. “But if you’re so certain you know the moves, hit me.”

“What?” Anakin took a step back. “Wait, for real?”

“Yes, for real.” Obi-wan activated his borrowed lightsaber and twirled it. “Hit me.”

Anakin stared at him for a minute. This went against everything ingrained into his very being- hitting his master. He was aware of the scar under his shoulder, a stiff spot that had nearly finished healing. But Obi-wan set his stance, knees bent. He grinned slightly, still keeping the serious teacher face, but his presence felt playful.

Anakin took a breath, then grinned back. “Okay. You asked for it.”

He swung with all his strength.

Obi-wan flicked his wrist and Anakin’s lightsaber skidded off Obi-wan’s blade. It left his hand vibrating. He switched hands and shook it out.

Obi-wan waited. “Go ahead. Try again.”

So Anakin did. He launched forward with a flurry of formless attacks. Obi-wan planted himself and blocked every single wild swing.

Anakin danced back a second later, panting. “How are you doing that?” He asked. “Teach me!”

“I am,” Obi-wan said, deactivating his saber. “That’s precisely the point of-“

Anakin took the opportunity and swung hard. Obi-wan dropped to the ground and kicked out, sweeping Anakin’s legs out from under him before hopping back up.

Anakin landed with a thud and groaned, then took Obi-wan’s offered hand to pull him back to his feet. “Good surprise attack, Padawan,” Obi-wan said. “But you advertised what you were going to do before you did it. Your weight shifted, and then you brought your lightsaber back too far. It left an opening for me.”

Anakin groaned and deactivated his lightsaber. “So basically if I had to fight the Sith right now, I would die.”

Obi-wan hesitated at the question. “Well, yes. That’s why we’re training. We dealt the Sith a blow on Naboo, but they will return. And when they do, we will be ready. Together.”

Anakin nodded, making the best sad, scared expression that he could to keep Obi-wan distracted. But he wasn’t so much thinking of the words as watching for his opening- he struck quick and hard, driving an elbow to Obi-wan’s chest.

The hit landed and Obi-wan fell back a step, sucking in a sharp breath. Anakin grinned, jumping back. “Gotcha.”

“You did get me.” Obi-wan said, dropping to a crouch. “Most impressive, using your youngling pup eyes as a weapon. I won’t fall for it next time. Now hit me again.”

He wasn’t mad that it was the elbow instead of the lightsaber, so Anakin fell back on what he knew. He could fight on the street if he had to- he leapt, throwing himself at Obi-wan.

Obi-wan ducked away, but this time Anakin knew to watch out- he jumped Obi-wan’s kick then grabbed his master’s arm, twisting a leg around to grip Obi-wan’s side and pull him down.

Obi-wan stumbled at Anakin clinging to him, dropped into a roll that loosened Anakin’s grip and grabbed him in a headlock. Anakin yelped, twisting against it. “No fair- you’re bigger than me!”

“Opponents will be bigger than you,” Obi-wan said cheerfully, loosening his grip ever so slightly.

Anakin twisted again, elbowed Obi-wan in the gut. Obi-wan grunted and the lock loosened enough for Anakin to slip free. He hurled his entire weight at Obi-wan, throwing his master down to one knee.

Logically, Anakin knew Obi-wan was holding back. He was holding back as well- were it a real fight, Anakin would have sent a knee to the crotch or bit until he tasted blood or ripped at hair. He guessed if it were a real fight, Obi-wan would simply throw him away with the Force or chop off his arms and legs.

But this wasn’t a real fight- this was fun. Anakin activated his lightsaber for his next attack, thinking maybe if he could keep Obi-wan’s focus on the glowing blade he could land a punch.

But Obi-wan activated his saber too, lowering into a ready stance. “Use what you’ve learned,” he said.

Anakin grit his teeth in concentration, thinking of the katas. He had them memorized, right? Yeah. So if he mixed them up a little, maybe he could surprise Obi-wan…

He darted forward, swinging down. His saber glanced off Obi-wan’s with a clash of sparks, and he rolled it up into an attack to take Obi-wan’s arm off. Obi-wan twisted away, spinning his lightsaber over his head and down to stab into Anakin’s chest-

Anakin blocked it, throwing his lightsaber up, and he knew he did good because Obi-wan grinned and leaned into the saber lock. Sparks flew where the two blades connected. Anakin grit his teeth, considered his options, then dropped.

Obi-wan unbalanced for a second and Anakin chopped his lightsaber forward, fast and brutal and clumsy. But it didn’t matter how graceful it was because it hit Obi-wan’s thigh- a glancing blow that singed his leggings more than actually hurting him, but it was a hit!

“Good,” Obi-wan said. “Again.”

…

Lunchtime came. They showered quickly in the gym showers (free water. Just for rinsing off sweat. These people were crazy.)

Anakin’s whole body felt like he’d been beaten up. He was bruised and his muscles ached. But it was a good ache. He had not been beaten- he had been learning how to give the beating.

He decided he liked learning with Obi-wan. Obi-wan was hard, yes- he didn’t let up even when Anakin felt like collapsing. But he corrected Anakin when he did something wrong and praised him when he did something right. He wanted Anakin to succeed.

And Anakin wanted to succeed for him. He wanted to make Obi-wan proud.

So he felt a certain amount of pride when they walked into the commissary. He was padawan to Obi-wan Kenobi, the Sith Slayer, and he had landed a few hits when they’d sparred.

That pride quickly evaporated when they walked through the tables. He didn’t know anybody here, yet all the eyes seemed to be on them. Whispers followed them-

“-look at little Kenobi, seems like yesterday he was failing my class-”

“-scooped up Jinn’s new padawan for himself-“

“-from Tatooine, yes, they rescued him from that Sith, I heard-“

But Obi-wan did not stop to correct any rumors, nor even spare them a glance. He led Anakin through the line to get their food- some sort of rice and meat dish- and then led him back through the whispering crowd to a table on the edge. The whole time Anakin felt eyes and minds press against him as the Jedi of the lunch rush tried to get a feel for the new member. He shoved the sensation away, doing his best to hide behind Obi-wan, both physically and psychically.

But thankfully, Anakin knew some of the people at the table they stopped at. It was Quinlan, one of the knights that Obi-wan fought the other day, and a blue Twi-lek girl maybe a little older than Anakin.

“Anakin, you remember Luminara,” Obi-wan said, nodding to the knight and sitting beside her. “And this is Aayla. She’ll be Quin’s padawan in a year or two.”

Anakin sat down beside Obi-wan, then smiled at Aayla. “Hi. I’m Anakin.”

“I know,” Aayla said, folding her hands together and resting her chin on them. Anakin could feel her studying him, her mind prickling against his.

“Look, now they’re friends,” Quinlan said, patting Aayla’s shoulder. “We done good, Obi. How’re you feeling today?”

“Not bad, actually,” Obi-wan said with a snort. “I thought I’d be useless, but Anakin and I were working out all morning. He’s scrappy, but I think I can smooth him out.”

“I felt bad that I missed the party,” Luminara said, tilting her head slightly. “Until I learned that you disappeared halfway through.”

Obi-wan shot a glare at Quinlan so vehement that Anakin could feel it burning through the Force. Quinlan laughed and shook his head innocently.

“Reeft actually told me. There’s no shame in it,” Luminara said, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a slight smirk. “Nowhere in the Code does it say you cannot-“

“Aayla!” Obi-wan interrupted, slightly desperately. “Are any of your classmates here? Would you mind introducing Anakin to them? He’ll be learning with you, and it might be nice to know what he’s getting into.”

“Yes.” Aayla stood and picked up her tray. “Come on,” she told Anakin, then turned and started walking, her lekku bouncing cheerfully.

Anakin got up too, glancing at Obi-wan. Obi-wan smiled and nodded at him to go, so he followed, hurrying to catch up with Aayla. “So you’re Quinlan’s padawan?” He asked her.

“I will be,” she said, picking her way through the tables. “He saved me when I was little. And then when he was knighted he asked if I wanted to learn from him. But I’m only eleven, so…” She shrugged. “The Council said that because his missions are so difficult we should wait until I actually turn thirteen.” She huffed. “But I want to be a padawan now. You’re so lucky.” She stopped before another table. “This is Tru, Kiara, and Shama. Everyone, this is Anakin.”

Anakin waved, but he felt awkward with all their eyes on him. They were all clean, civilized kids. They weren’t dirty slave kids like him. Their eyes bored into him. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” Kiara, a humanoid with dark skin and bright green hair, leaned back and crossed her arms. “You’re Jinn’s padawan, aren’t you.”

Anakin opened his mouth to correct her, but Tru beat him. “No, he’s Kenobi’s.”

Kiara frowned. “Really? Isn’t Kenobi a little young-“

“He’s only a little younger than Quin,” Aayla said with a little shrug.

“And that means that Master Jinn has no padawan now,” Shama pointed out. “Perhaps you could talk to him, Ki.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or perhaps I will talk to Master Jinn.”

“It’s not fair,” Kiara said, crossing her arms. “Anakin here just comes in and has a Master right away. I don’t even know which Jedi found me.”

“How was Master Jinn?” Shama asked, leaning forward. He was a Togruta, with sharp teeth that glinted in the light. “Did he seem like he was interested in another student?”

Kiara and Shama both stared at Anakin. He shifted awkwardly. “I don’t know. He kind of wanted to teach me before he got hurt. I don’t know now.”

“Ask him for us.” Kiara raised an eyebrow. “It’s the least you can do, since you took Kenobi.”

“I didn’t take Obi-wan,” Anakin said, blinking. “We chose each other.”

“Yeah, that’s what Aayla always says about Knight Vos,” Shama said, waving a hand. “But nobody has picked me yet.”

Aayla chewed on her food and shrugged, unconcerned. Anakin felt slightly betrayed. He didn’t like being under fire like this. He felt exposed.

“Wait, Kenobi was still a padawan though,” Kiara said, narrowing her eyes. “How could Jinn want you if he already had Kenobi?”

“Shut up,” Aayla said pleasantly. “Quinlan said Kenobi was ready to be a knight anyways-“

“He was,” Anakin said quickly. “Qui-gon said Obi-wan was ready when he asked the Council if he could teach me-“

“Oh Force,” Shama said, wide-eyed. “So it’s true that he denounced Kenobi?”

“Denounced?” Anakin blinked. “No, he didn’t- Obi-wan was ready to be a knight. He killed the Sith-“

“He killed the Sith after he was denounced,” Kiara said. Her eyes were wide, but Anakin could sense a streak of fascinated curiosity from her.

“You can have Jinn,” Shama said to Kiara, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I could learn if I was scared of getting tossed aside the whole time.”

“He didn’t toss Obi-wan aside,” Anakin said sharply. “Obi-wan was ready for the Trials!”

“But he didn’t take the Trials,” Aayla said, gesturing with her fork. “They just knighted him.” She leaned in, lips quirking in a grin. “I heard he and the Mando Queen celebrated by...” She made a circle with her thumb and pointer finger, then stuck her other finger through it.

“Ew.” Kiara wrinkled her nose. “Don’t be gross, Aayla.”

Anakin stared at her. “Obi-wan did not! He’s a good Jedi, not-“

Okay, being in a love was one thing, but Aayla was suggesting Obi-wan and Satine actually… and that was gross and wrong. Obi-wan would NEVER.

“Quinlan’s making shit up,” Anakin snapped. “If that’s who you heard it from.”

“You’re really defensive,” Kiara said, crossing her arms.

Aayla grinned. “Maybe not in those words exactly, but Padawan Muln was asking Quin if he got Obi-wan back alright, and he didn’t realize I was there listening. Would both of them make it up?”

“Well they didn’t… do that.” Anakin glowered at Aayla.

“Guys, someone is going to hear this conversation,” Shama said, hugging his montrals tight. “What if one of our future masters is listening? And they think we’re… pervy.” He lowered his voice, then pulled his hood up over his head.

“Well, Aayla and Anakin don’t need to worry about a future master,” Kiara said, flipping her bright nerf-tail back. “They’ve already got masters.” She pursed her lips. “I mean, not to seem better than the Sith Slayer or anything, but I don’t think Master Jinn would pick someone over me. Master Yoda said I have an advanced grasp on the Living Force.”

Tru had been quiet up until now, but he spoke up. “Master Jinn was just gravely injured,” he said. “Maybe you want someone who isn’t so focused on healing-“

“Just because he got hurt doesn’t mean he’s not a master anymore,” Kiara said, lifting her chin imperiously. “He’s one of the strongest masters of the Living Force. I think I could learn a lot from him.” She turned directly to Anakin. “You should ask him if he wants another padawan. One who won’t turn to the Dark Side.”

Anakin wasn’t very hungry anymore. Kiara’s gray eyes bored into him. Her eyebrows were a darker green than her hair. “Okay,” he said after a second. “I can… ask him.”

He glanced over his shoulder towards Obi-wan, but there was no help there. Luminara was speaking about something, and Obi-wan listened intently. Quinlan said something. Obi-wan dropped his head to his hands, shoulders shaking. But it was with laughter- Anakin could feel his delight through the Force.

He wondered if Obi-wan would be laughing like that if Anakin was over there.

“Hey, Tru,” Aayla said, leaning across the table. “Did you do the homework for algebra yet? Could you help me with the third question?”

“Yes.” Tru reached under the table for a bag. “The exponent is tricky.”

Anakin fell quiet as the little group started working on their homework together. He peered over Kiara’s shoulder at her datapad. His stomach dropped. It was like looking at a foreign language.

He supposed it was a foreign language.

…

Anakin was relieved when the other kids went to their class. Aayla and Tru waved goodbye to him. He waved back, but his heart wasn’t really in it. Shama reminded him a little bit of Kitster, but just enough that it hurt. His body was sore from this morning and he missed Tatooine. But he wasn’t supposed to miss Tatooine. Mom said not to look back.

But as he sat alone at the lunch table for a second, he couldn’t help but look back.

Obi-wan slid into the seat across from him. “You weren’t hungry?” He asked, picking up Anakin’s fork and sticking it upright into the cooled mess of rice and meat.

Anakin shook his head. “No. Kinda. I ate some of it.”

Obi-wan waited a second, but when Anakin didn’t offer more information, he nodded. “Okay. We’re going to the Archives this afternoon. We should work on your reading.” Then he smiled. “I can feel that bruise from your bony little elbow.” 

“Good. I’m stronger than I look,” Anakin said. He tried to make it sound joking, but it came out more sullen than anything. “Hey, Obi-wan?”

Obi-wan blinked at the sudden change of tone. “Yes?”

Anakin hesitated. “Qui-gon didn’t… replace you with me, did he?”

Obi-wan tugged his cloak’s sleeves over his hands. His mind suddenly became opaque so that Anakin could sense nothing, truth nor lie. “No,” he said. “That’s not at all what happened. I was ready to face the Trials, and Qui-gon recommended me. It was a coincidence that it came at the same time as-“

“I didn’t want to steal him from you,” Anakin said quickly. “I didn’t know it was such a big thing… the other kids are all so worried about finding a master. What happens if you don’t get one?”

Obi-wan’s gaze flicked away, then back to Anakin’s face. “Then you are assigned elsewhere, where their talents will be used for the good of the galaxy. Knighthood is not the only path. There are the different Corps-“

“What if you weren’t ready?” Anakin asked sharply. The question came suddenly to his head, like a blaster bolt. “What if you were still a kid, and Qui-gon picked someone else, and-“

“Take a breath, small one.” Obi-wan reached across the table and touched his hand. “I was ready for knighthood. And I will not choose somebody else over you, so it will never be an issue between us. Alright?”

Anakin looked down at Obi-wan’s hand on his, then nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Obi-wan nodded towards the door. “Did someone say something to you? Aayla can be a bit rough, but her heart’s in the right place. She spends too much time with Quin.”

“No.” Anakin shrugged, but he already felt a little better. He wasn’t alone here. He had Obi-wan. And Obi-wan wouldn’t leave him. “They just… talked.”

“Everyone talks here,” Obi-wan said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t take much stock in what you hear. If you have questions, feel free to ask me.”

“Okay,” Anakin said again. “Yeah. Where’s the Archives? I haven’t seen them yet.”

Obi-wan squeezed Anakin’s hand before drawing back to his side of the table. “I’ll show you.”

…

The Archives stretched on forever. Stacks and stacks of data discs and holocrons cast a low blue glow over the shelves. The air danced with dust motes and the smell of cabling. The Force was hushed. Jedi didn’t look up from their computer terminals, or if they did it was only to nod at Obi-wan and then go back to their work.

Deeper in, the shelves widened into a central hub. An information desk manned by two padawans of maybe fourteen or fifteen dominated the center. Above them, the ceiling was painted in a massive mural of the Jedi. Anakin dragged his feet, staring up at it. He wondered how they managed to paint the ceiling itself. Upside down?

Obi-wan glanced back when he realized Anakin wasn’t following. “It is pretty,” he said, following Anakin’s gaze. “I always forget that’s there. This way. There’s study rooms in the back.”

Pretty. Anakin dragged his feet, eyes fixed on the colorful ceiling. He had never seen anything like it, as sweeping and vivid and shining as it was. Jedi of old stretched above him like saints gleaming bright and good in the past. There was nothing like it on Tatooine. He’d been to Jabba’s pleasure barge once. The biggest artwork was a carbonite bounty hunter who’d tried to skip town.

And Obi-wan just sort of forgot the painted ceiling was there. Anakin shook his head at the craziness of it and hurried to keep up.

There were long tables in the back with more computer terminals. There was more of a murmur back here. Groups of students of all races, dressed in robes, worked on projects or studied together. A burst of laughter exploded then quieted at one of the tables. Doors dotted the wall at intervals. It was to one of these that Obi-wan led Anakin.

Inside, all sound vanished, though Anakin could still sense the other Jedi around. There was a table in the center of the room, and a board on one wall. Obi-wan ran his hand across the board. It shimmered and lit up.

Login by handprint or password, the computer said in a cool, vaguely female voice.

Obi-wan pressed his hand to the board.

Handprint not recognized, the computer said.

He made a face, pulled his hand back, then tried again.

Handprint not recognized, the computer repeated.

“Uncivilized,” Obi-wan muttered, rubbing his hand on his pant leg. He tried again.

“Just use your password?” Anakin hovered awkwardly, watching.

Handprint accepted. Logging in Padawan Obi-wan Kenobi.

Obi-wan quirked an eyebrow. “Knight Obi-wan Kenobi.”

Would you like to change your access level? Open settings.

“Settings,” Obi-wan said, crossing his arms. “Change access level from Padawan to Knight.”

You do not have the authority to edit access level.

“But you just said I could- Nevermind. Alright,” Obi-wan said, dropping his cloak over a chair. He didn’t notice when it slipped to the floor, so Anakin picked it up for him and set it over another chair. “We are going to teach you Basic.”

“I’m ready,” Anakin said, sitting stock straight in one of the chairs. “Teach me, Master.”

…

Obi-wan stifled another yawn in his arm. He tried to hide it, but Anakin could see he was flagging. He had apologized the first time he’d lost focus, gazing off into space until Anakin said his name. At one point, he’d disappeared for a few minutes and then reappeared with a cup of caf. Anakin had scoffed at him- he’d added so much milk it was nearly white, and probably would do nothing to wake him up. Obi-wan had wrinkled his nose and complained that the Archives only had decaf tea.

Now the cup of caf was empty, and Obi-wan still looked like he needed a nap. Anakin thought a nap didn’t sound half bad.

Anakin decided he hated poetry. Obi-wan had him reading the stupid poems written by some dead Jedi. They were simple little things, about nature on other worlds. It didn’t matter what they said, Obi-wan said, so much as that he could read the words themselves. Though, Obi-wan had looked a little disappointed that Anakin didn't like them, so he pretended he didn't hate them as much as he did.

Birds flit through green skies

They swoop low to skim gray seas

My soul skims the Force

“I hate birds,” Anakin finally said, glaring at the words on the board. “They’re huge and they eat babies.”

Obi-wan’s delight flared in the Force as he came back to alertness. Anakin turned sharply. “What.”

“You read it,” Obi-wan said. He jumped up, hands pressed to the table. “You read it, Anakin!”

Anakin blinked, then glanced to the board. He hadn’t read it well. It had taken him a minute. But he had read it himself, without Obi-wan’s help.

“Yeah,” he grumbled, but a little warm feeling flared in his chest. “I guess I did.”

“Do you want to try another, or call it for the day?” Obi-wan sat straight, rubbing at his eyes.

Truly, Anakin was done. But he didn’t want to disappoint Obi-wan. His eyes were tired. His body was tired from this morning. His whole brain was tired from trying to absorb everything that Obi-wan said. So he said nothing.

“We can call it.” Obi-wan stood and stretched his shoulders out. “Quit while we’re ahead. We can work at it again tomorrow. Computer, log out.”

Logging out Padawan Obi-wan Kenobi, said the screen, and went dark.

“Remind me to call Tech Support and get my account updated,” Obi-wan said. “It was supposed to update automatically. You need an account too.” He pointed at Anakin. “That’s another thing for the List.” He hunted around for his cloak.

Anakin pointed to the chair.

…

They returned to their quarters. Anakin sat at the dinner table while Obi-wan put on a pot of tea. It wasn’t particularly late in the afternoon, but Anakin didn’t think his brain could fit anything else. And he didn’t think Obi-wan really felt like teaching anymore, but that was a little scary. If this was how Obi-wan taught when he was tired, how much work would they do when he was awake?

“Do you have any questions?” Obi-wan asked, turning away from the kettle to face Anakin.

Anakin winced. “No, I don’t think so.” He hesitated. “Um… but you said I would be taking classes?”

Obi-wan nodded.

“When does that start?” He hoped it was a long time off. He could barely read a simple poem, let alone a whole textbook. And he’d never even taken a class before. That was what rich kids did.

Obi-wan leaned back against the counter. “In two weeks, this semester ends. Then students have a week off, and a new semester begins. I think I’ll have you start then, if that’s alright with you. There’s truly no point in showing up with only two weeks left.”

“So three weeks?” Anakin huffed, picking at a nick in the wood of the table. That seemed simultaneously so far away, and so quick. “I’ve never been to school before,” he admitted.

Obi-wan slid a cup of tea in front of him, then sat beside him. Anakin blew on it, but didn’t dare drink it yet. Qui-gon and Obi-wan served tea boiling hot. Mom had served it ready to drink.

“Your teachers will help you,” Obi-wan said. “As will I. I have no doubts that you’ll do fine.” He hesitated, wrapping his hands around his mug. Anakin could sense the question hanging in the air before he actually asked it. “Were there no schools on Tatooine?”

“There were schools in Mos Espa,” Anakin said, shrugging. “I mean, there was one. Sometimes I did work there? Like, they had a droid janitor and he always broke down, so I fixed him a lot.” He wrinkled his nose. “But school looked so boring. The other kids were just sitting there all day and the teacher yelled at them if they talked or moved or anything.” He made a face. “Me and Kitster-”

“Kitster and I,” Obi-wan corrected gently.

Anakin made a face. “Kitster and I had more fun without school.”

Obi-wan nodded. He looked grave, though Anakin didn’t see what was so serious about it. “Really,” he said. “We had fun. I mean, if we ever got time off together, it was awesome.” He grinned widely at the memory. “We know all the service hatches ‘cause we do all the work, right? So we could sneak in and watch the pod races. Or sometimes you go hang out at the space port. You gotta watch out for the creepy guys trying to grab you but the nice ones had stories about other planets and would give you candy.”

Obi-wan nodded again. “It does sound like fun,” he said, and his voice sounded smooth but Anakin could sense his worry. He didn’t get why Obi-wan was worried. Was he worried about how Anakin would do? Well, join the club, because Anakin was also worried about how Anakin would do.

“Are we allowed to leave the Temple?” he asked, changing the subject away from school. He didn’t want to think about that now. “Or are we forced to stay here?”

Obi-wan tilted his head. “No. We have the freedom to come and go. Do you want to go out?”

Anakin shrugged. “I dunno. Is there anywhere to go?”

Obi-wan took a sip of his tea, considering. “Do you actually enjoy mechanics, or was that simply your job?”

Anakin nodded vehemently. “Yeah. I love that stuff.”

Obi-wan grinned. “I think I have a place.”

…

They took a Temple-issue speeder. Anakin tried to get Obi-wan to let him drive, but Obi-wan said he had to learn the rules of the Coruscanti lanes first. Which made sense, but still, Anakin wanted to drive.

Coruscant was loud. The thoughts and feelings of countless beings were a barrage in the Force, but Obi-wan shielded some of it. Anakin could still hear it all, but it was muffled, as though it were coming from another room. He appreciated that, though he worried a little when Obi-wan said that eventually he would learn to shield himself. He didn’t think he could block out so much chaos like Obi-wan could.

They dropped from the upper lanes, where the air was clear and the walkways were clean, to the lower levels. Here it was more congested, more chaotic. Obi-wan grit his teeth at a traffic jam and then simply flew under it. “This is illegal,” he admitted to Anakin. “But we are on Jedi business.”

“Jedi business,” Anakin repeated, nodding seriously and looking up above at the drivers cursing and making angry gestures at them. He grinned. “So being a Jedi is like a free pass?”

“No!” Obi-wan’s shields slipped and Coruscant screamed into Anakin’s head for a second, then muffled again. “Sorry,” Obi-wan said, shaking his head. “No. You cannot use the fact that you are a Jedi to get whatever you want. You can only use it if you are working for the greater good.”

“And the greater good,” Anakin said slowly, “Is my master not sitting in traffic?”

Obi-wan’s jaw tightened. “The greater good is showing my padawan around his new planet,” he said.

“I don’t mind traffic,” Anakin said in the most serious tone he could. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, but now he knew a button to get Obi-wan riled.

Obi-wan pulled the nose of the speeder up when they had cleared the traffic jam and returned to the legal lane. “Well, I do,” he muttered. “It’s uncivilized. Don’t just stop in the lane.”

…

Their destination was a market set in a wide open section of an old warehouse. Stalls jammed together sold used droids and droid parts, parts of stripped speeders and ships, useless junk, used tools, some new tools, and random things like clothes or food or stuff… it was loud and smelled of grease and fried food and the rows between the stalls were packed with mechanics and civilians looking for parts for odd jobs.

Anakin turned a circle. “It’s like Tosche Station,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “But huge. Gods, Obi-wan, this is so cool!” He moved to dart off towards a booth with half a broken protocol droid sitting on the table, but Obi-wan grabbed him by the scruff of the robe. He turned back, eyes wide. “Can I go look?”

Obi-wan fished through his pockets, then pulled out two credit chips. “Check how much are on these first,” he said, nodding to a dinged up computer mounted to the wall. “Stay close enough that you can feel me. But go ahead.”

He obeyed Obi-wan and checked how much money he had first (The computer terminal had an option for Huttese, and he could read it, mostly! And he more money than he’d ever gotten on Tatooine. He felt positively wealthy.). Then he darted off, zipping under elbows and touching tools and considering droid parts. Nobody bothered him. Someone snapped at him when they bumped into him, took one look at his cloak, and said, “Excuse me, Master Jedi,” before darting away.

Master Jedi. Anakin felt giddy, even if he wasn’t actually a master, or even really a student yet.

“Hey, Jedi kid,” someone hissed.

Anakin froze, glanced around. There were so many people, it took him a minute to pinpoint the voice.

“Yeah, you.”

The voice came from a stall where a bearded man had a table of tiny parts. Anakin tilted his head and walked towards it. “What’re these?”

“Lightsaber parts,” he said, leaning forward. “Got ‘em right here for you. Straight from an abandoned Temple on the moon of Kirmor. You want the strongest saber of them all? Cut through anything?”

Anakin frowned. “Yeah. My master says I don’t get to make a lightsaber ‘til I’m older though…”

“Oh, don’t worry about what your master says.” The man raised up a lens. “This sucker’ll make the blade ten times stronger. Focuses it. Only fifty credits.”

Anakin blinked. “That’s a focusing lens off a security droid though.”

And now the mystery wore off, and he recognized some of the other parts too. The guy was trying to scam him. He could have laughed- Coruscant was exactly the same as Tatooine, just bigger. “My master wants a new lightsaber,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll just go get him, so he can look at your stuff.”

“Oh- no, no,” the man said, shaking his head. “I have the Force, see, and I can tell when a Jedi is strong enough for these artifacts. You are. But your master is probably…”

Anakin picked up a piece of copper tubing, nothing more than an old pipe sawed into smaller pieces. “I think Obi-wan can handle it.”

The scammer frowned. “Obi-wan… Kenobi? The guy from the holonet chopping the other guy in half?”

Anakin nodded cheerfully as he set the pipe down. “That’s him. I think he can handle your super power lightsabers, don’t you? I’ll just go get him.”

“No- no, that won’t be necessary,” the man said, shaking his head. “Uh. On second thought, these aren’t really worth his time. I saw the recording. Guy needs to go to the Temple himself. Um.” He smiled brightly. “Nice doing business with you, kid.”

Anakin pocketed the focuser for his trouble (those things were useful, and hard to find not chipped), plus a few gears and cogs that caught his eye. The man didn’t dare tell him no. Then he skipped off, perusing the other tables with more real items. He found a toolset from Corellia for ridiculously cheap, just because the original handles had been replaced and a few pieces were missing. It used up most of the credits Obi-wan had given him, but the purchase made him grin from ear to ear as he clutched the package to his chest.

He found Obi-wan at a table on the edge of the market, considering a stand of old flimsi books. He picked one up- the cover was ragged, but there was a picture of a ridiculously muscular shirtless Jedi on the front. He snorted, and set it back down, then crouched by the crate at the edge of the table to consider something else he’d found.

“Master?” Anakin asked, coming up behind him.

Obi-wan jumped, then straightened up, clutching one of the books. It was old and smelled musty. “It’s the collected plays of Van-kora Lelkori,” he said, flipping through the pages.

“Lelkori,” the sales person said, stepping around the edge of the table. His gait was awkward, his leg clicking with the movement. “One of the big Stewjon authors from the Golden Era. Whole lotta drinking and killing each other while wearing skirts. That there’s an original. You’ve got a good eye, kid. Eighty credits. Pricey, but worth it for the original print.”

“Kilts, not skirts,” Obi-wan corrected absently. He pursed his lips, considering the book in his hands, then set it back down. “I don’t need anything frivolous,” he said, then nodded thanks to shop keeper. “Are you finished, Anakin?”

Anakin clutched his package closer. “Pretty much. There’s one more place I wanted to look at. Meet you up front?”

Obi-wan nodded and vanished through the crowd.

Anakin turned sharply to the shopkeeper. He only had a few minutes. “I don’t have eighty credits,” he said, drawing himself up straight. “But you’re limping.”

The man frowned and looked down. “Yeah, lost a leg a bit back. Speeder wreck. Not much you can do about it.”

“No, I mean…” Anakin shook his head. It had come out wrong. “Your fake leg. I can fix it so you’re not limping if I can have that book.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You?”

“I’m a mechanic,” Anakin said, nodding. “I know I don’t look like it. But I think I know what part needs to be fixed. The knee spring sticks sometimes, especially when it gets sand in it. Or dust. I can replace it quick, and you’ll be able to walk straight.”

The shopkeeper considered him for a long minute.

Anakin grit his teeth. He wouldn’t have much time before Obi-wan wondered where he was. “Look, he’s my new master,” he said, gesturing in the direction Obi-wan had gone. “And I kinda got him in trouble with his bosses and he’s gotta do all this work now for me. And he’s all smart and likes dumb old poems. But eighty is really steep. And you’d be able to lift your boxes better if your knee spring wasn’t sticking.”

The shopkeeper still looked dubious, so Anakin pulled one of the springs he’d pilfered from the scammer out of his pocket. It was a fake lightsaber part, sure, but a very real spring. “I even have the stuff to do it.”

“Fine. Go ahead and try.” The shopkeeper sat back and rolled up his pantleg. “I had my brother look at it, and he couldn’t do anything. Not like you can do worse.”

Anakin grinned. “Thank you thank you thank you.” He darted around behind the table and knelt down to examine the knee.

It wasn’t actually dust. It was one of the gears skipping. The teeth were only slightly misaligned, easy enough to miss if you weren’t an expert. But Anakin was an expert. It just needed a bit of tightening here, a tad bit of loosening here, and a calibration there (he needed the man to walk in a circle around his booth to get the tension right, but he did it.)

The limp wasn’t quite gone, but that was because the fake leg was slightly longer than the man’s real leg. But the fake one worked perfect now, and Anakin grinned in triumph. “You’re welcome.”

“Well then,” the shopkeeper said, hopping up and down a few times to test it out. “You really are a mechanic, kid. What’s your name?”

“Anakin Skywalker,” Anakin said, and picked up the book. It was heavy. There were patches of shiny paint on the sides of the pages, though most had worn off. “This is it, right?”

“Collected Plays of Lelkori,” the shopkeeper said. “All yours.”

Anakin shoved it into the bottom of his own package of tools so Obi-wan wouldn’t immediately see it and hurried to catch up with his new master.  

Chapter Text

Qui-gon pulled open the top drawer of his dresser. His lightsaber still lay where Obi-wan had respectfully placed it. The crystal resonated, calling out to him in the same familiar tone he’d felt his whole life. Yet, when he reached for it, he hesitated. His fingers barely brushed the hilt, and he pulled them back as though he’d been burnt, the memory coursing through him.

Yellow eyes. Pain. Obi-wan’s scream.

He closed his eyes against the flashback, gritting his teeth. “Here and now, Jinn,” he murmured to himself, clenching his fists to ground himself. “Focus.”

But it was difficult to focus. He’d tried to keep painkillers to a minimum, but what drugs did swim through his blood fogged his connection to the Living Force. He could sense the crystal calling out to him, Obi-wan and Anakin in the next room over. One of them was sleeping on the couch, one in Obi-wan’s bed. He couldn’t remember which was where tonight. They were supposed to move out of Qui-gon’s quarters, but the paperwork and room acquisition always took longer than people expected.

His gut ached, deep inside. The wound was no longer life threatening, but it wasn’t healed. It would possibly never be fully healed, according to Vokara. One moment, he’d been a fit Jedi master. Perhaps beginning to push past his prime, but nowhere near slowing down or retirement.

Now he was fatigued just looking down at his lightsaber. The fight replayed in his mind, over and over. All the times he had told Obi-wan to focus on the present mocked him. He could not focus himself.

“It’s a bad night, huh?”

Qui-gon stiffened. He did not turn around. He did not speak. If he spoke, then Anakin or Obi-wan would wake and ask who he was talking to. He might be wounded, but he refused to be crazy as well.

“You gonna tell your healer that you’re getting the shakes trying to pick up your weapon?” Vader’s voice bordered on mocking. “C’mon, old man. It was just a fight with a Sith. There will be plenty more where that came from.”

He closed his eyes and tried to think past the pain, past the drugs, past the fatigue that dogged his every breath. Ghosts did not belong in the Here and Now. He could banish this specter himself, if only he could focus.

“You know, you can use that pain.” Vader walked around to Qui-gon’s periphery. He moved slow and predatory. Were he a lothcat, he would be flicking his tail. “The pain focuses you. It purifies your awareness and banishes distraction.” He stopped, a glowing specter just on the edge of Qui-gon’s field of view. “Pain is the ultimate present.”

“From your point of view, perhaps,” Qui-gon murmured, keeping his voice low as to not disturb anybody’s sleep.

“Points of view,” Vader said, snorting. “The point of view of the Jedi, of the Sith. It’s all lies, you know. The Father, the Son, the Daughter. Dark, light. Living, cosmic. All bantha-shit. Leave the point of view lies to Obi-wan, Master Jinn.” He stepped closer, lips curling up in a smile. “You and I know the truth.”

Qui-gon grit his teeth, but half turned. “And what truth would that be, Anakin? Visual and auditory hallucinations due to trauma? Ghosts of a future not yet lived? Or just possibilities come to life?”

“You already know,” Vader said. Between one heart beat and the next, he appeared directly in front of Qui-gon. He shuddered at the proximity. “You just don’t remember yet.”

 Qui-gon’s breath caught. Anakin’s gaze bored into him. His skin prickled at the proximity to the Dark Side, at the cold that slid through his veins. It was the same cold as the Sith that had defeated him. It was the chilling anxiety he felt from Obi-wan’s worst nightmares of the future. It was the desert night, burning bright with stars even as frigid wind ripped through fragile flesh.

In the next room over, Anakin- the living, breathing, real Anakin- cried out in his sleep. The Force shuddered with the boy’s nightmare. The ghost vanished as though it had never been, taking all sense of the dark with it.

Qui-gon sat down heavily on the bed, rubbing a hand over his beard. There were logical explanations, of course. Brain trauma from prolonged bacta exposure coupled with his own Force sensitivity and brushes with the Dark Side…

Anakin woke up in the next room, his awareness like a beacon- though it had been dulled somewhat by Obi-wan’s shielding skills. Qui-gon remained quiet, shielded. The boy would go back to sleep in a few minutes. And Qui-gon felt too shaken up to act as a master right now.

But he didn’t go back to sleep. There was a rustling of blankets from the living room, then the creak of Obi-wan’s bedroom door. Obi-wan came awake, somewhat, his mind warm and lazy against Qui-gon’s. Muffled words- Qui-gon couldn’t hear them through the wall. Then silence.

After a few minutes, both boys were asleep again.

Qui-gon shook off the last of the shakiness from the specter- be it ghost or hallucination. He picked up his lightsaber from the drawer, purely out of spite towards Vader. The crystal within resonated, calling out to him, and he answered, dropping his forehead to the cool hilt.

The last time his lightsaber had been used, it had been in Obi-wan’s hand, and it had killed a monster. Now it had come back to Qui-gon.

Though it was the middle of the night, he was not tired, and he had nowhere to be in the morning. He dressed in a light tunic, pulled on his cloak, then slipped out of his room, careful not to let the closing door wake whomever was sleeping on the couch.

The couch was empty. Qui-gon paused, looking at the empty nest of blankets, then turned towards Obi-wan’s half-open door. His grip tightened on his saber hilt. Anakin had crawled into bed with Obi-wan, cuddling in under the blankets like an unruly massiff puppy, his head tucked under Obi-wan’s chin. Obi-wan had done nothing to reprimand the boy, and instead had fallen peacefully back to sleep.

Qui-gon certainly never would have let Obi-wan or Xanatos into his bed. It set a precedent of unwelcome attachment- Obi-wan was Anakin’s master, not his family, and he was not a replacement for Shmi.

But his heart still softened, seeing Obi-wan holding the boy like that. Obi-wan would have made a good father, in another life. And Shmi, so hardened by her life and yet still so kind and generous, would have been so happy to see it.

Qui-gon bit the inside of his cheek, debating, but he let the boys sleep, letting himself out of the apartment. He would have to have a talk with Obi-wan about attachment, but for now, he would not wake them.

Instead, he made his way down the halls to the lift that would open up close to the nearest practice room. It was dark at this hour, the lights turned low enough so the diurnal species would not be disturbed and the nocturnal species could still function. The only sounds were the humming of the electric within the walls, the occasional shriek of a faster speeder cutting too close to the Temple.

Once he’d reached the practice rooms, he took one of the medium sized ones. The large ones were available, but he would not be practicing any Ataru right now. He wanted to stretch, to work out some of the nervous energy from the past few weeks of injury, not jump right back into acrobatics that would land him into Vokara’s office.

Blue light flickered on the edge of his vision, but he didn’t turn towards the specter. He pulled his hair back in a loose knot, then ignited his lightsaber. Familiar green burned away the blue ghost, and for the first time since the Sith’s saber had pierced him, he felt closer to whole.

He’d had this lightsaber for ages, and the grip fit his callused hand perfectly. The Force flowed through him, down his arm, through his hand, into the crystal, and back up his hand and arm to his heart. Qui-gon was one with the lightsaber.

He started with a simple Shii-Cho kata. A youngling’s form, yes, but each movement tugged at his healing middle. His legs lagged behind his brain- he fixed his gaze on one spot to keep his balance, slowing the flow to the speed of his nerves.

He wanted to speed up. His grip tightened, then relaxed as he forced himself to slow. This was not a saber practice; this was stretching.

Already, his muscles burned.

He closed his eyes, breathing hard but sticking to the rhythm. It was a dance- a slow simple dance of his body and the blade and the Force itself. He wanted to shift to Ataru- he ached to leap from the ground, but gravity held him tight. He would not fly tonight. He would only flow.

Shii-Cho, the Way of the Sarlacc. Determination. Qui-gon Jinn was nothing if not determined. He repeated the movements again and again until he could not catch his breath and sweat soaked his hair. When he could take no more, he switched sides, repeating the movements with his left hand as dominant. His legs trembled, the muscles weak. His arms burned.

The movements had been ingrained into him since he was a youngling. When he let the flow take him, so too did the Force. He found his focus through the ache in his muscles, through the concentration of his mind, through the resonation of his lightsaber. He was a Jedi, and being wounded would not stop him.

For a moment- for a grand, exhilarating moment- he was whole again.

And then his nerves lagged and his foot slipped and he crashed to the ground. The saber deactivated as his grip on the deadman slipped. He twisted to avoid breaking his nose but landed painfully on his wrist.

“Kriffing hells,” he hissed, pushing himself up. A quick glance around told him he was still alone- nobody had seen the slip. He called his lightsaber to him with the Force and clipped it to his belt, then poked at his wrist- sprained, but thankfully not broken. He breathed a sigh of relief at not having to find Vokara to set it.

Actually, who was he kidding? He would have gotten Obi-wan to set it for him, then wrap it himself instead of going to her. She would not be happy that he was practicing without her permission.

He snorted at his own ridiculousness. He was Qui-gon Jinn, the Jedi Maverick, and he was scared of a little Twi-lek healer. Shmi would have smiled slightly and shaken her head at the ridiculousness. Tahl would have snorted in a most unladylike way and told him not to be childish.

He pulled himself up, flexing the fingers of his injured wrist, and went back to his quarters. The impromptu workout had tired him enough. He thought he could sleep now.

But after he had showered and returned to bed, he did not sleep peacefully.

His dreams were chaotic, a swirl of stars in the desert and a dark haired woman whose visage shifted between Tahl and Shmi and back again. He reached for her, Obi-wan’s scream echoing through his skull, but a red force field separated them and burned his hand when he touched it.

“You can’t save her,” whispered a monster with yellow eyes, though Qui-gon could not see his face. “You will never save her. You cannot. You are a fool of a Jedi and you should be dead.”

…

“Ani. Time to wake, young one.”

Anakin groaned. His body was sore from training with Aayla yesterday and he was warm and comfortable. Obi-wan’s heart beat in his ear, the slow, steady beat of morning before he’d had his tea and fully woken up.

“Come now, Ani,” Obi-wan murmured, sitting up. Anakin slid down a little, but still clung tight to drowsiness. “I can’t feel my arm.”

“It’s too early,” Anakin moaned, burying his face in Obi-wan’s soft sleep-shirt. “I don’t wanna.”

“But you must.” Obi-wan pushed him off a bit more forcefully. Anakin fell down to the pillow and pulled the blanket up over his head. The mattress shifted as Obi-wan got up.

“I thought I was free now,” he groaned into the pillow.

“You are,” Obi-wan said. “You’re free to be a Jedi. Ten more minutes while I change, then you are getting up.” He batted Anakin’s head where it was covered by the blanket, lazily amused, then vanished to get dressed.

Anakin sighed. He had a feeling that if he straight up refused to get up, Obi-wan wouldn’t push too hard. Not right now, at least. Probably later he would, when Anakin was more trained and expected to be more like a Jedi.

He could hear Qui-gon in the kitchen, now that he focused. Obi-wan’s footsteps stopped. “You’re up early.”

“Sleep was eluding me,” Qui-gon replied in his deeper voice. “The tea is fresh.”

“Bless you, Master,” Obi-wan said, and Anakin heard clinking cups and pouring liquid.

“Is the boy still sleeping?”

“He’ll be up soon,” Obi-wan said. There was a pause where he was probably taking a sip of his tea. “He isn’t overly fond of mornings.”

“I seem to remember another padawan who wasn’t fond of mornings.” Qui-gon’s being sparked with teasing. “How do you think his crippling caffeine addiction is treating him?”

Obi-wan snorted back. The sound was slightly muffled, like he still had his mouth on the tea cup. “I would have kicked it again if the Queen’s handmaidens weren’t so fond of their caf.”

“Obi-wan,” Qui-gon said, and Anakin could hear the eye roll even if he didn’t look from under the blankets.

“If you are done mocking me, I’m going to go get dressed now.” But he wasn’t actually mad. Anakin was starting to learn it took specific things to actually rile Obi-wan up, and teasing him was not one of those things.

Quiet for a moment, then Qui-gon spoke again. “Obi-wan- there was something else.”

Obi-wan’s footsteps stopped again. Anakin could feel his quizzical spark.

Qui-gon was quiet for a moment. “I do not mean to undermine your authority with Anakin,” he said, lowering his voice. “But you cannot let the boy sleep in your bed.”

Obi-wan’s shine sparked then dulled behind his shields. “Excuse me?”

Anakin held his breath under the blankets. Though Qui-gon had lowered his voice, the apartment was small and the door was open. He could hear every word. And he was, once again, getting Obi-wan in trouble. This time, with Qui-gon.

“It leads to attachment,” Qui-gon said softly. “For both of you. You cannot properly teach him if-”

“He had a nightmare,” Obi-wan interrupted. “He’s been completely uprooted from his home and everything he knows. If physical contact allows him to have a night’s rest then I don’t mind it.”

Yeah, Obi-wan, Anakin cheered inwardly. But he felt annoyed at Qui-gon too, for even calling Obi-wan out. People slept in each other’s beds all the time back home. There just wasn’t room for everyone to sleep alone.

“I am not critiquing you,” Qui-gon said gently. “I am only warning you to watch out. You have struggled with attachment in the past, and I don’t want to see you cause yourself unnecessary stress.”

Silence. Obi-wan was a void- Anakin couldn’t even sense him.

“Thank you for your concern, Master,” Obi-wan said in an empty-pleasant voice that chilled Anakin to the bone. Then the ‘fresher door closed behind him. Through the wall, he heard water running.

He heard Qui-gon’s low exhale, then a near-silent murmur of, “Oh Obi-wan.” And then Qui-gon disappeared into his own quarters.

Anakin got up quickly then. He still couldn’t feel Obi-wan, like it was that first day and they were back on Naboo. He closed the door and dressed quickly, not wanting to give either Jedi a reason to be cross with him too.

…

“You’re healing well,” Vokara said, looking over her datapad of results. “The inflammation has gone down around your spinal cord, but it will be some time until we can tell if the damage is permanent. If that is the case, then we can start looking into other treatments. I have a stem cell study from Kamino that I am dying to try my hand at.” She looked up at him. “I would clear you for light exercise, except I’m sure you have already started despite my orders.”

Qui-gon smiled serenely at her, and did not confirm nor deny her suspicions. But her eyes flicked down to his swollen wrist, and back to his face. “Does that need to be scanned?”

“It is not broken,” he said, holding his hand and wiggling his fingers for her to see. “I’ve had worse.”

Vokara’s mouth tightened to a thin line. “I wish you would stop that. You know your habit of downplaying your injuries rubbed onto Kenobi, don’t you?”

Qui-gon winced. He hadn’t talked to Obi-wan since his failed lecture that morning. “I don’t need a lecture, Vokara.”

She raised a brow, then swiveled on her stool to face him directly. Her eyes bored into him. She had seen a lot as a healer, both within the Order and in her hours out in other galactic hospitals. It gave her an odd expression, somehow both sympathetic and mildly judgmental. “How are you and Obi-wan doing, not that he’s been knighted?”

Qui-gon held her gaze for a moment, but then he had to drop his eyes. “It is an adjustment,” he admitted. “Perhaps more for me than for him.”

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards. “I guarantee you that it is an adjustment for him as well, no matter how well he is taking to knighthood. It may seem that he is pulling away from you, especially when the housing requisitions assign him new quarters.”

Qui-gon flexed his sprained wrist, remaining casual, but he thought about his quarters, empty of all the noise a padawan brought. No more study groups on his floor, no quiet holodramas playing when Obi-wan couldn’t sleep, no sense of his padawan constantly close by. Somehow, he’d forgotten that Obi-wan and Anakin would be moving out.

She smiled lightly, tilting her head. “Welcome to the world of empty nesters, Master Jinn,” she said. “I’m sure you will find something to amuse yourself.”

“I was offered a job on New Mandalore,” Qui-gon offered, only half joking. “How would that work to fill my time?”

The joke worked. Vokara’s master-healer expression broke with a snort. “Huh. How would Obi-wan feel about you taking a job offer from his lady-love?”

Qui-gon shook his head at the thought. “He claims he has no more feelings for her,” he said. “But I heard a rumor that they disappeared together after his knighting. It concerns me.” He shot a glare at Vokara. “I know it is not my place to be concerned anymore, but-”

“You will always be concerned for him, Qui-gon,” Vokara said, crossing her legs like they were companions instead of a doctor and patient. “He’s your padawan.” She said padawan in the same tone that someone would say son, and it hit a little too close to home for Qui-gon. He looked away again, glancing down at the numbers on her datapad, then back to her.

“I am not attached to him,” he said. He didn’t convince himself, and he knew he didn’t convince Vokara.

“Love and attachment are two different things,” she said softly, tilting her head. “I think you know that. I think Obi-wan does as well. Give him time and space, and he will come back to you. He adores you, Qui-gon.”

But Qui-gon thought of Obi-wan’s shields slamming around his mind that morning, the ice in his eyes, and he wondered if that was true. Perhaps he was only driving Obi-wan further away.

“What are you thinking?” Vokara asked, her voice soft. The Force felt warm and soothing, filling the room, muffling the rest of the Temple. It was a safe space for him, and he could speak his thoughts without judgement.

Qui-gon shook it off. “Quit your healer witchery,” he said, shielding his own mind from her. He knew it was unnecessary. He could be an open book, and she wouldn’t read him without permission. Still, he felt safer behind his shields.

Vokara studied him a moment. He held her gaze.

“If you will not talk to me,” she said, “then talk to Obi-wan. I have never seen him so shaken as when you were unconscious. I think little Anakin helped him through that time as much as he is helping Anakin now.” She stood, smoothing out her white tunic. “And I know you called me a witch to insult me, but I spent a year on Dathomir while I was a padawan.” She smiled sweetly. “Do not test me, Jinn.”

“And you wonder why I can’t stand healers,” he muttered. But he reached around for his other layers and started to dress.

“You can’t stand healers because you’re attached to your own anxiety, and we remind you of that,” Vokara said, gathering her things. “That’s why you took so many back to back missions, isn’t it? If you sit still too long, you start thinking.” She hugged her datapad to her chest and fixed him with a stern gaze. “And you’re going to be grounded at the Temple for a while now. There will be no running from your thoughts, Qui-gon.”

“I take back to back missions because the galaxy needs me,” Qui-gon said sternly. “And I would rather use my training to make a difference than to sit safely here in the Temple.”

Vokara paused at the door. “Are you considering the Duchess’s job offer then?”

Was he? The answer, of course, was no. But suddenly empty days of no missions, no padawan, and no jobs seemed to stretch before him. New Mandalore was an active place, a new society rising from civil war. He would be busy, and needed.

It was tempting. It would not be leaving the Order; it would be considered a long term ambassador position, or something of that sort.

“Everything you tell me is completely confidential,” Vokara said, half turning. “You know I would never mention our conversations to the Council.”

Qui-gon exhaled. “Obi-wan would not forgive me,” he admitted. “Were it anybody but Satine, perhaps I would consider it.”

“You should talk to Obi-wan,” Vokara said softly. “If you need help, I am here.” She shut the door quietly behind her, leaving him alone in the exam room.

He let out a breath, feeling tired already. He hated healers.

…

Qui-gon lingered at the unglazed window that looked down over one of the practice rooms. He stood slightly to the side so Obi-wan or Anakin would be less likely to see him, but he knew it was obviously to anybody who passed by that he was hovering. Thankfully, anybody who passed didn’t comment, though he felt a few pairs of pitying eyes.

Bastards. He didn’t want their pity.

Obi-wan and Anakin circled each other down below. Qui-gon had arrived at the tail end of their kata practice. They’d broke for water and Obi-wan had gone over some of the more technical parts of their katas. According to his lecture, Anakin was picking it up very well. He would do well to focus a bit harder, and his footwork needed work. But he seemed to move instinctively with the lightsaber and he was doing extremely well with using both hands equally.

Anakin positively glowed when he was praised. The critiques barely dulled it. He just nodded with grave seriousness, fixing Obi-wan with the focused gaze of a learning child.

Apparently it was habit now to move into a spar, because neither had to say it. Anakin took one last sip of water and darted out to the center of the room, lightsaber already ignited as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

Obi-wan took his time, seeming to ignore Anakin. He savored his last sip of water, stripped off his sweaty tunic and used it to wipe his face, circled his wrists a few times to loosen them. They were probably sore from using a practice saber instead of his own- Qui-gon could see the hilt was a different balance from Obi-wan’s old lightsaber.

“Come on,” Anakin groaned from the center of the room. “You’re already warmed up. Or are you so old you think you’ll break something?”

Obi-wan circled his shoulders, muscles graceful under skin that was remarkably unscarred for all the injuries he’d seen in his twenty-odd years. Vokara knew her craft well, Qui-gon had to admit. “I have to warm up mentally to deal with you,” he called back cheerfully. He tossed his tunic aside then lit his own lightsaber. It burned green, flickering with some instability when he twirled it. The much-abused Temple issue saber would probably have to be repaired or retired soon.

“That’s ‘cause you’re weak, old man,” Anakin shouted back, grinning.

Qui-gon flinched, stepping away from the window. He had to take a breath, and he missed Obi-wan’s quick comeback through his own sharp breath. Anakin’s words and tone sounded so like the specter that for a second that older ghost swam in his vision. That same grin on Anakin’s face fit perfectly to Vader’s face, paired with yellow eyes instead of blue.

I killed him, Vader had said.

Lightsabers clashed in the practice room below. Qui-gon squeezed his eyes shut and the light shifted to red. Two men screaming at each other- DON’T TRY IT!- and Qui-gon had to grab the wall for balance. Anakin struck towards Obi-wan and Obi-wan swept back, keeping the boy on his toes, and Anakin learned. He knew Obi-wan’s moves, he copied his master’s movements. The air smelled of ash and sulfur and burnt hair. Black closed in around the edges of Qui-gon’s vision and a cold sweat broke out on his skin.

“Master?” he heard, and he couldn’t tell if it was Obi-wan or Anakin or the ghost itself as the black closed over him.

…

Obi-wan sensed the sudden distress through the old training bond and he froze, trying to pinpoint Qui-gon’s location. Anakin’s saber swung into his side. His skin burned and his concentration slipped as he yelped.

Anakin pulled back immediately, wide-eyed as he realized the play-fight was over. “Qui-gon,” he said, and then his eyes flicked to Obi-wan’s side. “Karkin’ suns, sorry-”

“No worries,” Obi-wan said, waving off Anakin’s concern. “Nothing a bacta patch won’t fix- he’s close. Dammit, Master…” He darted off, heart racing with the rolling disquiet in the Force. “Clean up in here,” he called over his shoulder to Anakin. “I’m going to-”

Qui-gon was close. So close- Obi-wan closed his eyes, trying to pinpoint. Then he gathered the Force around him and leapt upwards. He caught the windowsill up above and swung his legs over. “Master!”

Qui-gon had crumpled on the ground in a mess of robes. Obi-wan grimaced and fell to his knees next to him, panic closing off his throat. The hall shifted- he was on Naboo again- no. No. He shoved the panicked flashback away, breathing through his own staccato heart. Work now, panic later. Listen to the Force in the Here and Now.

“Qui-gon,” he said, shoving his master over and slapping his cheek lightly. “Wake up.”

Qui-gon didn’t respond and Obi-wan could have sobbed. He could drag Qui-gon to the Halls of Healing, but that could cause more damage to whatever he’d done- his organs were still so fragile-

“Master,” he growled, the Force twisting through the sounds of his words and granting them power. “Wake up.” He pressed his knuckles against Qui-gon’s sternum and rubbed hard, reaching for him physically as well as through the Force.

And it worked- Qui-gon made a noise and flinched away from Obi-wan’s rough touch.

“Qui-gon,” Obi-wan snarled, clenching his fists in his master’s robes. “Come back to me.” He tasted the Force in his words like metal on his tongue, twisting through their bond and into Qui-gon’s head. Qui-gon groaned at it, pushing away at Obi-wan’s hand.

“Obi-wan?” Anakin asked in a tiny voice- he’d climbed the stairs or jumped the window- Obi-wan didn’t give a fuck how Anakin got there. He ripped around, a fist still clenched against Qui-gon’s chest. “Get a healer,” he snarled.

Anakin’s eyes hardened- purpose or anger? He nodded sharply and darted off, boots silent.

Qui-gon shifted. A hand came up, touched the burn on Obi-wan’s side. “He hurt you,” he whispered, but his eyes were unfocused. “Vader hurt-”

Obi-wan hissed, shoving Qui-gon’s hand away. “I’m fine,” he snapped, holding a hand up over Qui-gon’s face. “Look at me. Focus.”

Qui-gon closed his eyes again. The Force boiled around them with Obi-wan’s panic and Qui-gon’s loosening grip and then there were other people there. They touched Obi-wan with calming hands and he flinched away, shielding himself from being influenced. But he let the little healer padawan pull him away.

“Hi, Knight Kenobi,” she said, grabbing his hands. “I’m Padawan Vey- you can call me Arwen. You need to breathe with me-”

He jerked his hands back, turning to watch Vokara lean over his master, and breathed his panic into the Force. Focus, Kenobi, he mouthed to himself, pressing two fingers to his temples. The Force boiled, riling him more, and he needed to be calm. Annoyance- the healer padawan was annoying, her tone patronizing though she probably didn’t mean it to be. He could be annoyed. He was annoyed. He was annoyed, not panicking.

“What happened?” Vokara asked. She knelt on the ground, a hand splayed over Qui-gon’s heart. The Force gathered around her in a focused maelstrom.

Obi-wan took a breath. When he spoke, miraculously, his voice was steady. “Anakin and I were training. I sensed a disturbance. I found him a moment later and he had collapsed.”

Vokara nodded curtly and turned to her patient. Obi-wan had been dismissed.

He stared at Qui-gon on the ground, swallowing past the growing lump in his throat.

Here and now, he thought, and whirled away. Panic later.

He grabbed Arwen’s arm. “Where’s Anakin?”

She looked a little miffed at being grabbed, her cheeks flushing pinky-silver, but she pointed.

Anakin was right there, hovering a few meters off. Obi-wan let out a long breath, feeling like an idiot- he was so wrapped in his own frantic brain that he hadn’t sensed the boy so close. He turned from Arwen and Vokara and Qui-gon.

Anakin watched him warily as he approached. Obi-wan didn’t blame him- he knew he’d snapped too hard 

“Is he gonna be okay?” Anakin asked, hugging his arms around his middle.

Obi-wan sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I hope so,” he said. “I hope he’s just an idiot and pushed himself too hard.” He reached out through the Force, brushing against the boy’s presence. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

Anakin shook his head. “Don’t be sorry for dumb stuff,” he said.

Two more healers arrived with a hover stretcher. Obi-wan pulled Anakin away as they slid Qui-gon over. It was a peculiar feeling in his gut. He didn’t know if he was terrified or if he was protecting Anakin from the sight of such a powerful man having passed out or if he was protecting Qui-gon’s reputation from witnesses. And he felt guilty too, because he should be helping the healers, but he was instead pulling away with Anakin-

“Kenobi,” snapped someone- Ells Cortana, the padawan who’d taken over Qui-gon’s case. “We’re taking him to the Halls for a scan. You good?”

“I’m good,” Obi-wan replied. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” He nodded down at Anakin.

Ells nodded in return, braid bouncing on his shoulder. His face softened slightly. “He’s stable,” he said, as the other healers vanished around a corner. “I think he really only passed out. Stood up too fast, or a mini panic attack.”

Qui-gon didn’t get panic attacks, but Qui-gon was certainly capable of standing up too quickly or pushing himself too hard. Obi-wan watched as Ells turned to run after the other healers and his patient, and then he turned to Anakin.

Anakin threw his arms around Obi-wan, careful to avoid the burn on his side.

Obi-wan closed his eyes, breathing carefully. Anakin’s presence, so warm and bright, centered him. Like a comet, he orbited this boy, drawing closer and closer rather than being lost to the emptiness of space. He sank to his knees, hugging the boy back and burying his face in Anakin’s shoulder.

They stayed like that for a moment, and then Obi-wan pulled away. “Thank you,” he said softly to Anakin. “You acted quickly and didn’t lose your head even when I did. You did well.”

“’Course you freaked,” Anakin said, smiling weakly. “I’d freak if it was my mom. Ya know?”

Obi-wan let out a breath. “I suppose,” he said, allowing the moment of weakness. Then he shoved it off, inhaling the Force and exhaling his worries. “Still, you did well, Ani.” He reached out and squeezed Anakin’s shoulder. Then he nodded towards the practice room, still with their cloaks and water bottles strewn about. “Clean up in there, then you can have the rest of the day off, alright? I’ll comm you when I know more about Qui-gon. But I still feel him. He’s strong.”

He turned off, then stopped when Anakin grabbed his arm. He turned back, eyebrow raised.

“Remember to put a shirt on,” Anakin said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin.

Obi-wan batted the back of Anakin’s head. Already, the Force felt lighter. The dread had dissipated and the Force was calm once again. It would not be so calm if Qui-gon were dying. It was okay.

…

Qui-gon awoke in his room in the Halls of Healing. First, he hated that he thought of this pastel colored room with the big plant as his own. Second, Obi-wan stood at the foot of the bed, hands tucked in his opposite sleeves. His hair had reached an awkward, unruly stage of growth, made messier with dried sweat. It was ridiculous. It also clashed with his stern expression.

“You pushed yourself too hard,” Obi-wan said, as soon as Qui-gon was able to focus on him. “You passed out. What were you doing?”

Qui-gon grit his teeth. He felt bruised and weak. His wrist throbbed. His insides felt raw. Obi-wan’s judging presence grated on his psyche. “I was simply existing,” he said, pulling himself up. “The Force had other plans for me.”

“The Force did,” Obi-wan repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

Qui-gon sighed. Just the act of sitting up was tiring. Had he really been doing katas early this morning? Now he could barely move. His muscles felt too heavy. “Truly, Obi-wan. I sensed…”

The Dark Side. Darth Vader. Anakin’s potential for evil.

“You sensed what?” Obi-wan asked, leaning forward. His eyes were bright in the low, relaxing light of the room. He was so hopeful. He had so much faith in Anakin. Qui-gon didn’t want to throw a spanner into their budding relationship. He didn’t want to be the reason that Obi-wan could not trust his padawan. He had certainly had enough trouble in trusting Obi-wan; he didn’t want that pattern to be repeated.

“A disturbance,” Qui-gon said, letting the word fall. It was a cop out, but what else could he say? Suggesting that the boy could become a Sith Lord would be setting him up for failure before he’d even started his classes.

Obi-wan dropped his hands to the end rail of Qui-gon’s bed. “A disturbance?” he asked, leaning closer. His eyes flicked towards the closed door, then back to Qui-gon. “Did it have anything to do with the Sith?”

Yes, but not in the way you think. “No, Obi-wan.” Qui-gon folded his hands neatly in front of him. “It was nothing to do with you. Perhaps it was nothing at all. But I am fine. No need to concern yourself.”

Obi-wan’s expression shuttered, then pulled back and tucked his hands back into his sleeves. “Ah,” he said. “Yes. I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Obi-wan.” Qui-gon flinched as the boy’s full attention fell onto him. “Anakin is doing well. I was watching you both before…” He grimaced and made a vague gesture towards his own body. “I don’t want to distract you from him.”

Obi-wan grimaced. “You were watching us when you felt a disturbance so great that it made you faint?”

“As I said, it had nothing to do with you,” Qui-gon added weakly. “But the boy is learning quickly.” He hesitated. “You needn’t worry about me. Save your concern for him. Where is he now?”

“I gave him the day off.” Obi-wan’s grip on his opposite wrists inside his sleeves tightened. “He is either back at our quarters, or in the garage, or with Aayla and Quin.”

“You don’t know?” Qui-gon straightened more, forcing his aching muscles to respond. “Obi-wan, he is your charge-”

“He is in the Jedi Temple,” Obi-wan said, shaking his head, one eyebrow raised. “I roamed freely when I was his age. I’m sure you did as well. He’s fine, Master. I didn’t lose him.”

“I didn’t say that you lost him.” Qui-gon wrapped an arm around his middle, hating the broken feeling within his organs. Obi-wan was putting words into his mouth, and he didn’t have the energy to correct him. “I know you won’t lose him. But he needs your attention. I do not.”

Obi-wan’s jaw tightened. His eyes darkened. “And yet you’re fainting while you spy on our saber practice?”

“Obi-wan.” Qui-gon fought the urge to fall back against the pillows. “Of course I was watching. Of course I am interested in Anakin’s training. He is the Chosen One.”

“Are you interested in him because he’s the Chosen One, or because he’s Anakin?” Obi-wan asked sullenly, half turning away. He shot Qui-gon an irritated side-eye. “There is more to him than being strong in the Force. He’s very bright. A very quick learner.”

Qui-gon sensed he’d taken a misstep, but he wasn’t sure where. “I never said that he wasn’t. But he is the Chosen One as well, Obi-wan. He is not your average feral Force-user. He is stronger.”

“I never said he was average!” Obi-wan turned back to face Qui-gon, releasing his hands to grab the rail of the bed again. “I said there was more to him than- Nevermind.” He jerked back from the bar and crossed his arms again. “He’s not your padawan. It doesn’t matter.”

Qui-gon let out a long breath. “Why are you upset? I’m too tired to play word games with you, Padawan.”

“I’m not playing word games!” His voice cracked on the last word. The Force shifted, shielding around Obi-wan until he was a void. “I’m telling you, Qui-gon. You’re not listening to me.”

“I’m right here,” Qui-gon pointed out, gritting his teeth. “I can hear you loud and clear. Yes, there is more to the boy than his strength in the Force. But yes, he is very, very strong. He must be trained properly-”

“I am working with him from morning to evening, and his classes are to start in a week.” Obi-wan’s voice took on an icy tone, and Qui-gon fought the urge to sigh. When he reached Obi-wan’s ice-tone, it meant that it would be three days at least until Obi-wan would have an actual conversation with him. “I am struggling to see why you are lecturing me when you were the one who pushed yourself until you fainted.”

“I’m not lecturing you.” Qui-gon pushed himself back up on his elbows. “I’m only reminding you-”

“I don’t need a reminder about my own padawan,” Obi-wan snapped, gripping his opposite wrists so hard that the skin under his fingers turned white.

“No,” Qui-gon replied cooly. “But you seem to need a reminder for yourself. You are a knight, Obi-wan, not a padawan. Act like it.”

“Act- What the hell do you mean by that?” The Force grew choppy and cold around the void that was Obi-wan.

Qui-gon sat up fully, eyes narrowed. “I mean that you’re being snappish and petty. That is unbecoming of a knight. Control yourself.”

Obi-wan opened and closed his mouth once. His shields were tight but his cheeks were blotchy. “I am in control! You fainted! After nearly dying-”

“I am sorry that my medical issue inconvenienced you,” Qui-gon snarled, leaning forward in the bed. “You did not have to drop everything to come here.”

“And yet, here I am!” Obi-wan threw his arms out to the sides. “And you’re lecturing me about my padawan. I am trying, Master! I’m not nearly as strong as him, and I don’t feel the Force like he does, but I am trying!”

“You don’t need to try,” Qui-gon all but snarled. “You need to do. Stop trying. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Just do it, Obi-wan!”

“Like you would have?” Obi-wan lip twitched back from his teeth. “You’re not perfect, Qui-gon. You have your flaws as well, don’t forget-”

“I never said I was perfect!”

“No, but you act-”

The door slammed open on their argument, and the chaotic storm of Vokara Che stood in the doorway. Qui-gon flinched back, but Obi-wan drew himself up.

“Don’t worry,” he snarled at her, pushing past and into the hall. “I’m leaving.”

He was gone a second later. Qui-gon stared at the doorway, all the fight evaporating as soon as it had filled him. Vokara’s light footsteps seemed so loud that they made him flinch.

“I am trying to fix you,” she snapped, leaning over the end of the bed. “And you insist on raising your blood pressure to ridiculous levels.”

Qui-gon glowered at her. “I would like to sleep now.”

She gestured towards the hall. “I told you to talk to him, not yell at him.”

His glower deepened. She had no padawan. She didn’t understand.

She stared at him, lekku tense where they fell over her shoulders. Then she scoffed and turned away. “A group of padawans got themselves into a speeder wreck,” she said. “I have actual emergencies to deal with. I don’t want to deal with your drama. I’m putting you on no visitors until your levels come back to equilibrium.”

“You say no visitors like it’s a punishment,” Qui-gon said, laying back against his pillows. “I welcome the moment of peace.”

Vokara’s lekku tensed. Her grip tightened to white-knuckles on the end of the bed. Then she turned sharply and took her leave, slamming the door behind her. It seemed a bit of a passionate act for a Jedi.

“I don’t think I count as a visitor,” Vader said from the visitor chair. “After all, I don’t exist.”

Qui-gon rolled over so his back was to the ghost and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“I’m really learning a lot about you two,” he said, sounding half melancholy, half amused. “I had you in my head as this Jedi god. But you’re kinda an asshole.”

“It takes one to know one,” Qui-gon muttered into the pillow as he closed his eyes.

Vader laughed hard at that, a great belly-laugh that followed Qui-gon into his dreams as he dozed off.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you have to leave now.” Anakin knelt on the bed, watching Obi-wan pack his bag. “Can’t you wait a little?” He knew he sounded whiny, but he didn’t care. It would be his first night without Obi-wan since he’d come to this place. He’d been here for a few weeks now. His muscles were permanently sore, he had no friends, and he sounded like a stupid little kid when he read aloud. Obi-wan and Qui-gon were so awkward around each other ever since Qui-gon had fainted a few days ago, and their posturing made Anakin’s stomach turn flips whenever they were both in the room together.

And the worst part was that his classes started tomorrow. Obi-wan was leaving the night before he had to go to school for the first time. Not just the first time as a Jedi, but for the first time in his actual life.

His sinuses stung like he was going to cry, but he didn’t. Maybe he could cry here- as Obi-wan kept reminding him, there was plenty of water- but he refused to. Instead, he just whined.

“I mean, it’s not fair,” he said, turning to keep Obi-wan in his sights as the Jedi moved about the room, picking up a utility knife here and a fur-lined coat there. “You’re my master. You’re supposed to be here.”

“I know, Anakin.” Obi-wan tossed the coat on the bed and folded it, then leaned his arms on it to get the air out of the puffy layers. “And I am sorry. But the Council is sending me with a group of initiates, and they are unwilling to change their class schedule for us.” He hugged the jacket so it wouldn’t puff up again and pressed it into his bag, then hastily closed and clasped it. “I did ask, you know.”

“I know.” Anakin huffed. Of course, Obi-wan had asked. When he’d received the date for his trip to Ilum to make a new lightsaber, he had marched straight to the Council and asked for a different date. But he had returned to Anakin and shaken his head with a little smile. And though his expression was casual, his presence had that downtrodden sort of shadow that meant he’d been chastised.

Obi-wan was always getting in trouble for Anakin.

“You’ll be fine.” Obi-wan pushed the bag towards the door, then returned to sit on the bed beside Anakin. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re remarkably likeable. I have full faith that you will thrive in your classes.”

Anakin huffed again, glaring at the wall. “Maybe,” he offered.

“Okay- maybe Basic classes won’t be as fun,” Obi-wan conceded. “But you’re going to fly through your mechanics courses. It won’t surprise me if they move you to the advanced class within the month.” He elbowed Anakin. “You already know more than I do.”

Anakin tried to ignore Obi-wan. He was mad- maybe not at Obi-wan himself, but Obi-wan was the one who was there to be mad at.

“Oh, not even a comeback?” Obi-wan’s voice turned teasing. “Come now, I set that one up for you. Or are you…?” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that I, Obi-wan Kenobi, am better at basic mechanics than you, Anakin Skywalker?”

Anakin made a face at him. He couldn’t resist that. “No,” he said. “You suck. You were grinding that speeder’s gears the other day when you were shifting-”

“I was not!” Obi-wan threw a hand in the air. “I told you, the shift was sticking. It was not me.”

“Uh huh.” Anakin tried to stay mad, but then Obi-wan pushed his arm again, almost throwing him off balance. “You’re lying. You know you suck at shifting.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have you around to backseat drive,” he said, then reached out to rest a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine. Your bag is already packed and by the door. Remember to set your alarm. We looked at all the classrooms earlier so you know where they are. And if you need help, you have Qui-gon or Bant to go to.”

Anakin sighed again. “Yeah.”

“I promise, Padawan. It will be fine.” Obi-wan reached out and squeezed Anakin’s shoulder again, then straightened up. “I have to go- I have a ship to catch. I’ll be back in a few days, alright?”

“Alright.” Anakin looked up at the ceiling.

Obi-wan hesitated a moment, then picked up his bag and walked from the bedroom. Anakin glared at the ceiling for another second. But then he thought about not seeing Obi-wan, even just for a little bit, and he jumped up and ran out of the bedroom.

Obi-wan had already left the apartment, but he hadn’t made it very far down the hall. Anakin bolted down in socked feet and threw himself around the Jedi. Obi-wan stumbled forward a step with an oof.

“Fly safe,” Anakin said.

Obi-wan chuckled, then awkwardly reached an arm around to tousle Anakin’s hair. “I will. Learn a lot. I expect a full report when I return, Padawan.”

Anakin nodded, then let go of Obi-wan. “And I wanna see your lightsaber when you get back, Master.”

Obi-wan nodded back. “I’ll need somebody to spar with me to break it in. Are you up for that?”

“Yes!”

The lift nearby opened. They both turned to come face to face with Qui-gon. Anakin’s stomach dropped as the Force shifted around them, turning icy.

“Obi-wan,” Qui-gon said, stepping forward. “I heard you were leaving.”

“Yes.” Obi-wan hefted his bag back up. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

“I’ll watch Anakin for you.” Qui-gon offered Anakin a smile. Anakin smiled back, but his heart wasn’t really in it. He could sense Obi-wan’s discomfort, and it made him uneasy. He wished he knew what they’d fought about.

“Thank you.” Obi-wan shifted his weight from foot to foot, then made a move for the lift. “I have to go. I’ll be back.”

“May the Force-” Qui-gon started, but the lift doors closed. “Be with you,” he finished quietly.

Anakin bit his lip, but didn’t comment on it.

Qui-gon was silent for a long minute. Then he turned to Anakin. “Well, Padawan, you have a big day tomorrow. What do you say we find some dinner?”

…

Obi-wan hung back from the rest of the Crucible. There were three initiates on board, but they were meditating with Master Yoda in the hold. Obi-wan stuck to the cockpit, guiding the ship through Coruscant’s lanes as they started on their journey.

He heard the door hiss open behind him, but he sensed nothing. He half turned, hands resting lightly on the controls of the ship, to find Huyang standing in the doorway. The ancient droid’s eyes glowed with some unknowable expression as he studied Obi-wan.

Huyang made Obi-wan feel ill at ease. Droids could not feel the Force, nor could they really be alive. He could appreciate a programmed personality, but Huyang was so old, with so much experience, that it sometimes seemed that there was more going on in his circuits than simple gears and wires and computer chips.

“I remember when you were an initiate on this very ship,” Huyang said, stepping into the cockpit. “I expected you would do great things.”

Obi-wan ducked his head and turned his attention back to the controls, even as the droid sat in the copilot’s seat beside him. “You were the only one,” he pointed out wryly.

“Perhaps,” Huyang said with a little shrug. “But I have seen many initiates come through. It is those creative ones, the ones who question everything, that become something great.”

“I didn’t become… I just won a fight.” He reduced the throttle as they pulled away from the gravity of Coruscant, reaching into the dark of space. “And I lost my lightsaber doing it.”

“I assumed that from your presence here today.” There was an amused hint to Huyang’s tone, though his expression never changed. “A pity. You had a good lightsaber. Perhaps not as creative on the build as some, but solid. Functional.”

“That’s me,” Obi-wan said as he pulled up Ilum in the navi-computer. He swiped through the programming then pushed it to the engines. “Solid and functional.”

Huyang watched him pull the lever to push them into hyperspace. “Have you been to Ilum since your first Gathering?”

The stars streaked to blue around them as they jumped. Obi-wan dropped his hands from the controls and turned sharply towards Huyang. “No. I haven’t had a reason to.”

The droid crossed his legs and tapped his fingers against his chin. “Ah. Has anybody told you what to expect?”

Somehow, the atmosphere inside the cockpit became heavier, though a droid could have no impact on the Force itself. “No,” Obi-wan said carefully. “I know what I was told before. Ilum tests you. It tested me when I was a child, and I expect it will test me again now.”

“Ye-ees.” Huyang stretched the word out and swiveled the chair so he was looking out the transparisteel. The blue of hyperspace played about his face. “But then, you were a child with only a child’s fears. Now, you are an adult who has fought innumerable evils and has touched the Dark Side itself.”

Obi-wan’s stomach did a flip, but he kept his face neutral. “You only have what you take in with you,” he said.

“Precisely.” Huyang tapped his metal fingers against his metal leg. The clicking echoed through the cockpit. “And you are taking in a great deal more than you did as a child. Ilum is neither good nor evil. It is only a reflection of you. I suggest you meditate before you arrive.”

“I will take your advice into account,” Obi-wan said. He hesitated a second, then asked, “is there anything specific I should watch for?”

“That, I could not tell you.” Huyang swiveled on the chair to face him. “Every Jedi must face themself. Some seem to stroll into the caves without a care and pluck a crystal like a ripe piece of fruit. Others… we-ellll, you don’t need to know about them.”

“That sounds delightful,” Obi-wan muttered dryly. Oh, what he would give to be one of those Jedi actually in tune with themself, who knew their own mind and had faith in their own abilities. What old horrors would the caves of Ilum dredge up? Obi-wan had too many to count.

“Don’t look so glum,” Huyang said, and lay a metal hand on Obi-wan’s shoulder. “You have fought far worse monsters than your own psyche. Nothing can actually hurt you within the caves.”

Obi-wan shot the droid a sidelong look. “I’ve heard rumors about Jedi dying.”

Huyang snorted. It was a remarkably human noise. “Ridiculous! The caves don’t hurt anyone. Those who have died have died by murder or injury.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Or by falling or by getting eaten by some of the creatures on the surface.” He hesitated again. “Or by freezing. Or- well, a few have drowned. Watch out for underground lakes.”

Obi-wan pursed his lips. “Ah. Good to know. Anything else?”

“If I could prepare you, I would prepare everybody who flies with me.” Huyang shook his head. “I find that any advice I give now will be moot once you’re on the surface.” He glanced at the chrono on the cockpit’s console (though he had to have an internal clock- he was droid.) “If you’ll excuse me, I am due to speak with the initiates.”

“Of course.” Obi-wan supposed he could meditate until he was ultimately tracked down by Yoda.

Huyang stood, old joints creaking with the motion. He paused in the doorway, the gleam of his eyes reflecting off the screens.

“The gathering of a crystal marks a change in a Jedi’s life,” Huyang said. “Those initiates are transitioning from childhood to the role of a padawan. You are facing a greater change. The return of the Sith, a hasty knighthood, a new padawan…” he trailed off, and though the droid had no expression, Obi-wan could have sworn he sensed sympathy.

“It is no accident that you are here now,” Huyang finished. “The Force saw to it that you would come. For what, I cannot tell you.”

Obi-wan swallowed as Huyang retreated. He almost wished he was an initiate again, receiving the droid’s child-friendly speeches about all the creative ways to make lightsabers and all the interesting masters that Huyang had guided in the past. He hadn’t dreaded the icy caves of Ilum the first time he’d come here.

Now, as he settled in the pilot’s chair to meditate, he wished he could turn around and fly back to the Temple. It wasn’t an option though.

He had to shift a little to have room to cross his legs on the chair, but then he settled. The blue light of hyperspace flickered as he closed his eyes and settled into meditation. He had too many fears, but a long trip in hyperspace to put them in order.

…

Yoda watched from the side as Huyang instructed the initiates in the purpose of the Gathering. There were three of them on this trip, all with their own levels of potential.

Shama, the Togruta boy. He had a gentle nature, but the Akul-tooth necklace suggested that the brutality of his people lived on inside him.

(Yoda didn’t particularly love how the Togrutas in the Temple retained such a connection to their culture. It seemed a little too close to attachment for his taste. But it had gone on for generations, and he had to admit that the Togruta Jedi seemed stronger for their connection to each other.)

Shama needed a master who could hone his predatory nature, but also teach him to rise above his base instincts. He was only ten. Bant Eerin was close to knighthood, and her thoughtfulness would match well with Shama’s tendency towards instinct. If they knighted Eerin right away, she would have three years with solo experience, and her motherly nature meant that she would be thinking about taking a padawan by then anyways.

Shama glanced towards Yoda, half hiding behind his montrals, like he could sense Yoda’s thoughts. He blinked once, then turned his attention back to Huyang’s lecture.

Then there was Tru- he was a bit older, but Master Ry-Gaul had already expressed interest in training the boy. Both Tru and Ry-Gaul were being quiet about their impending partnership. Yoda had some doubts- a quiet master and a quiet apprentice might be too quiet. But Ry-Gaul was wise in the Force, and the pair would probably work well together.

The last one was trickier. Zara Melkior- a Clawdite, with a personality was as fickle as her power. She tended towards snap judgments, visible both in her eyes and in her Force signature. She changed bodies to suit her needs. He’d watched her pick three different species within a minute during an obstacle course a few weeks before. Yoda wasn’t sure who would be a good master for the changeling girl, and in fact, he wasn’t certain she belonged with the Jedi at all.

That troubled him, because the Force was becoming darker. They needed all the Jedi they could get, even if they were perhaps not as suited as they could be.

He shook himself of his worries, then left the initiates to their lecture with Huyang.

Obi-wan meditated in the cockpit. He’d kicked off his boots and sat cross-legged in the pilot’s seat, hands resting limp on his knees. The blue of hyperspace played over his young face.

Yoda had met Sith-slayers when he was still young and scrappy and those heroes were old and wise. They had not looked nor felt like Obi-wan. They had been dignified, even at their great age, self-assured. Their sage wisdom still echoed in Yoda’s mind, even as the faces faded to the ages.

Obi-wan was not yet one of those sage heroes. He was too youthful, hair was growing awkwardly from its padawan-cut, flopping in all directions. The smattering of freckles across his cheeks made him look even younger. He was strong, with the musculature of any combat-ready knight, but the layers of robes hid his muscles, made him seem softer. He questioned his own thoughts, he bickered with his old master, he doubted his ability to train the padawan he had claimed.

And yet, Obi-wan was very good at doing. He did not try things. He did them, or he failed. It was only when he was idle that he suffered, overthinking everything from the Force’s whispers to his own actions.

Yoda watched him meditate for a few minutes more, then sat in the copilot’s seat and turned his attention to the blue streaks of hyperspace. He had made the journey of the Gathering countless times before. Knights often accompanied when they needed a new lightsaber, but this was the first time a knight had lost his saber to a Sith.

Obi-wan shifted, tilting his head slightly without opening his eyes. His signature shifted from drifting meditation to greater awareness as he came back to himself. Then he opened his eyes and unfolded his legs. “My apologies, Master. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Yoda hmmphed, still watching the stars streak by. “Lost in the Force, you were.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Obi-wan shrug slightly.

“Troubled, are you?” Yoda turned sharply.

Obi-wan quailed under the direct question, but rallied a moment later, offering Yoda a crooked little smile. “Only about the normal topics, Master.”

“More visions, had you?” Yoda folded his hands on top of his stick.

Obi-wan shook his head. “Not since my vigil.” He was quiet for a long moment, then he took a breath. He seemed to steel himself. “Anakin is doing well. He begins formal classes tomorrow.”

Yoda‘s ears pricked up at the mention of the boy. Obi-wan watched him, his attention prickling in the Force.

“He is a fast learner,” Obi-wan continued when Yoda remained quiet. “I have no doubts-“

“Defend him, you need not,” Yoda interrupted, holding up a hand. “Made, my decision has been. Trust you and your ability to train the boy, I will.”

Obi-wan fell quiet. “Well… he is doing well,” he said, and this time the defensive tone had fallen from his voice. Only fondness remained.

“Ah. Friends with your padawan, you are becoming?”

That threw the boy for a loop. Yoda chuckled at his dumbfounded expression. “Yes, Obi-wan. As important to the student is a friend as a master. Friends with you, I am.”

Obi-wan blinked again, and Yoda felt a little rejected sting at the hesitation.

“Yes, of course,” Obi-wan said, catching himself. “I have always considered you to be one of my oldest friends.” He hesitated another moment.

“I have little experience in teaching.” His eyes flicked away, and then back to Yoda. He felt the wary apology more than he heard it in Obi-wan’s voice.

“Young, you are to be a master,” Yoda admitted. “And hard on you, we have been. But for a purpose, it is.”

“No, yes, I understand.” Obi-wan inclined his head. “You need to know that I can handle the responsibility. And I can- I was trained by Qui-gon.” The corner of his mouth quirked up a little.

“Hmm, responsible for him, you have often been.” Yoda smiled and turned back towards the blur of hyperspace. “Experience enough, that should be.”

Obi-wan snorted- an entirely undignified noise that Yoda was startled to hear from the normally contained knight.

“Perhaps, help you, more experience would,” Yoda mused as he watched the stars streak by. “A class you could teach. A master swordsman, you have proven yourself to be.”

Obi-wan’s attention sharpened onto Yoda. “As in, teaching to younglings?”

“Or to knights.” The idea took sharper form in Yoda’s head as he mulled it over. Obi-wan had survived that fight, and Yoda would have bet his favorite gimer stick that there would be more fights like that in the future. “Your skills, we will need.”

Obi-wan sputtered a moment. “I… yes, I would be honored. If people wanted to listen.”

“Listen they would,” Yoda said. “A strong Jedi you have become. Strong Jedi we will need in this dark future.” He fell quiet, ears drooping. Finally he murmured, “Fear I do that too old I am becoming. To the young, this fight belongs.”

“Master Yoda, you aren’t too…”

Yoda glanced up at Obi-wan’s awkward politeness. Obi-wan was young- he could not understand what it was to feel the strength leave his limbs, to feel the keen edge of his mind eroded by time. “When nine hundred years you reach, look as good you will not,” he grumbled.

Vain boy- he saw Obi-wan glance towards his reflection in a screen, then back to Yoda. He almost cracked him with his stick, but he let it slide.

“Meditate now, we will,” Yoda said, saving Obi-wan from anymore talk of bad knees and forgetting speeder keys. “Ready, you must be, for the trials of Ilum.”

“Huyang mentioned that,” Obi-wan said.

“Hmmph.” Yoda grunted, but truly he couldn’t add anything. He had no idea what Obi-wan could expect to see in the caves. Obi-wan had come closer to the Dark Side than any living Jedi.

Obi-wan obediently crossed his legs again and rested his hands on his knees. Yoda watched him for another moment. The Force sang around this boy, though his midichlorian count was on the lower side of average. He fell into his meditations easily, like a swimmer falling into an ocean. Qui-gon had trained him well.

A moment later, Yoda closed his eyes and slipped into the Force as well.

…

The thermometer on the ship read out as sub-zero when they landed. Obi-wan felt Huyang and Yoda look at him, and he knew immediately what was to happen- the ancient droid and master would stay on the ship where it was warm. Obi-wan would be the one to bundle up and lead the Initiates into the actual caves.

Their excitement buoyed him up as they pulled on thick socks and gloves and extra pairs of leggings under their tunics. He fought the urge to smile at their chattering as he laced up his clunky winter boots.

“I can already sense it,” Shama said, his fingers stumbling in his haste to wrap a knitted scarf around the base of his montrals. “I think. I mean, I know which way to go outside the ship.”

“You can’t know that yet.” Zara stood by the door, arms crossed in her puffy jacket. Only her dark gray eyes were visible between her scarf and her hat. She could have shifted to something hot blooded, but her eyes flicked to Yoda and she didn’t. Obi-wan wondered if she’d had her hand slapped for relying too much on her innate powers rather than the Force itself. He didn’t ask. It wasn’t his place.

“He may be able to sense it,” Obi-wan interrupted as he straightened up and shrugged on his dark gray coat. Unlike the rest of his Jedi-issue gear, the coat was his own, a birthday present from Qui-gon during one of their recent missions to bust an illegal spice ring on Hoth. Obi-wan was pleased to have an excuse to wear it again.

“See?” Shama made a face, then darted for the ramp. “I think we need to go left.”

“If nobody else has any suggestions, then I am content to follow Shama’s lead,” Obi-wan said. He paused to button his coat, then pulled on his gloves. “Is everybody ready?”

A few moments later, Obi-wan led the three initiates out across the ice field they had landed on. He felt the cold even through his layers, and summoned the Force to warm his fingers in his thick mittens. It was a blindingly brilliant day out- the snow was so bright that were Obi-wan expecting to be on the surface for more than a few minutes, he would have worn dark goggles.

Shama forged ahead, clumsy with too-big boots. Obi-wan stepped in the boy’s footsteps, and he sensed the others falling into line behind him.

“This way,” Shama said, and immediately tripped and fell. A puff of snowflakes flew up around him.

“Are you alright?” Tru asked before Obi-wan had a chance to.

“Yes.” Shama knelt in the snow, shaking snow from the exposed parts of his montrals. “We’re close. Those boulders there.” He pointed to the edge of the ice field, then looked to Obi-wan. “Right? You’ve been here before.”

“I was on a different part of the planet for my first Gathering,” Obi-wan said. “This is new to me as well. Lead the way.” He stepped closer, feet sinking into the snow, and held out a hand to help the boy up.

The boulders looked close, but the stretch of gleaming ice they hiked across played tricks with the eyes and perceptions. It turned out to be a hour and a half hike- slower because their feet kept cracking through the crust of ice and into the deep snow beneath. Obi-wan took the lead so the initiates could use his footsteps as a trail, but that just meant it was him tripping in the snow instead of Shama.

The closer they got to the entrance, the more the Force sang in Obi-wan’s ears. Shama had been right about sensing it from the ship. Obi-wan was a little disappointed that he himself couldn’t sense it from that distance. It seemed so loud, like whispers in his ears getting whipped away by the wind.

They were almost to the pile of boulders (which were much larger and more intimidating up close) when Obi-wan froze. Something flickered out the corner of his eye. He held up a hand.

“Danger?” Tru asked, turning to scan the field where Obi-wan was looking. “I don’t sense danger.”

“No…” Obi-wan squinted against the sunlight, then turned away.

He started. He could see it out of his periphery, the faintest mirage, the flicker of something humanoid. He turned back, and it was gone again.

His stomach dropped, and he continued forward, wondering if the ghost was someone from his past or one of the Jedi who had drowned in the underground lakes.

The entrance to the cave lay within the boulders. Two leaned against each other, framing a narrow corridor that descended in a steep staircase. Frost glittered on the steps. Some Jedi, ages ago, had fastened a handrail to the wall, but the metal was bitingly cold even through Obi-wan’s mittens.

“That’s it,” Tru said, standing at the entrance. “This is the beginning of the Gathering.”

Obi-wan squeezed the boy’s shoulder, then stepped past him into the cave. The others hesitated now that their mission was becoming more real. Obi-wan glanced back to find them looking at each other, communicating in the wordless way that friends could.

Then they followed him into the dark.

…

“This Gathering will be a challenge for young Kenobi,” Huyang said. He stood beside Yoda in the cockpit, watching the distant figures of the young Jedi disappear into the entrance. “He walks a difficult road.”

Yoda shot a sidelong look towards the old droid. “Know this, do you? The Force, you do not have.”

“Perhaps not,” Huyang said, then sighed a little at that. “That’s best left to the living, I suppose. But I have known many young knights like him. It is difficult to be selfless and kind in this hard galaxy.”

“Selfless and kind all Jedi are,” Yoda said.

“That is the ideal,” Huyang agreed. But he waved a hand towards the ice fields that dominated the viewports. The Jedi initiates and Kenobi were long gone. “But it is a difficult ideal. The galaxy is cold. Holding onto that warmth is near impossible, sometimes.” He was quiet for a long moment. “Not that I would know,” he added. “I am only a droid."

Yoda sighed. “Deeper, the Dark Side grows. Colder, the galaxy is becoming.”

“Perhaps. But the Force works in cycles as surely as the galaxy spins around the core.” Huyang sat in the copilot’s seat, watching as the wind sprang up and sent glittering snow twirling through the air. “As the Dark Side rises, so too will a hero rise to combat it. That is how it always is. The Force always brings balance.”

Yoda hummed. “If correct, Jinn is, then our only hope, Skywalker is.”

“Ah, Skywalker. The padawan from Tatooine.” Huyang stood up to return to the hold to organize the lightsaber parts. “I look forward to his Gathering. Considering his lineage, I expect he will be interesting.”

…

The stairway opened into a wide cavern. The light was faint, and the tunnels were darker.

“This will be our base,” Obi-wan said. He dropped his pack from his shoulder and pawed through it, finding a flare. When he lit it, it blazed so bright he had to blink away spots. “This will burn for twelve hours,” he said as he jabbed the end into a patch of snow. He had to pack it a bit so the flare wouldn’t just tip over and put itself out.

“We will separate to find our crystals,” Obi-wan said. “When you find yours, return to this cavern. I expect everybody back before the flare burns out.”

“What if we aren’t back by then?” Zara asked as she loosened her scarf. Out of the wind, it was warmer, though not by much.

Obi-wan hesitated a moment. “Everybody will be back by then,” he said, which wasn’t very good assurance. But despite Huyang’s warnings, he hadn’t heard of anybody specific getting hurt in the caves. “Listen to the Force. It won’t steer you wrong.”

Tru closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then turned and chose a tunnel. “May the Force be with you,” he said, and then disappeared into the shadows. A moment later, his flashlight illuminated the darkness.

Shama was the second to go. He turned, montrals bouncing. “Good luck,” he called over his shoulder.

Someone blew on Obi-wan’s ear. He flinched, jumping away. The flare flickered wildly.

“I am going to be a Jedi,” Zara said, taking a deep breath as she faced down one of the darker corridors. “I am a Jedi.”

Obi-wan turned a circle, but the only other person in the cavern was the initiate. She was too busy bolstering her own bravery to have stood on her toes to breathe in Obi-wan’s ear.

He took a breath to slow his own beating heart and set a hand on Zara’s shoulder. “You can do this,” he said, and then turned away from her. He had to find his own crystal as well.

Obi-wan.

Obi-wan whipped around at the sound of his name to face another passageway. This was smaller than the others, more a crack between two icy boulders than a true tunnel. His breath caught, then fogged on the air. He did not want to squeeze through that chilly crack. He wasn’t even sure his shoulders would fit.

But a light flickered beyond it. The Force whispered through Obi-wan’s blood, making every hair on his body rise.

“This is the way,” he whispered to himself, and stepped towards the claustrophobic passageway. Icy pebbles crunched under his boots.

He had to hunch to get through. The rough walls tugged at his jacket, and he had to hold his breath to wriggle past. But immediately beyond the boulders, the tunnel opened up a bit. It was still claustrophobic. He had to duck his head in some places. The path twisted on itself. The Force rang in Obi-wan’s ears. Without turning on his flashlight, he focused on his other senses, on the brush of air past his hair and the feel of the rough ground under his boots.

He turned a corner and the tunnel opened into a wider room.

Somebody stood in the middle, arms crossed, looking very intently at the opposite wall.

Obi-wan stopped short and pressed himself to the wall, sinking back into the shadows. He breathed shallow, chest barely rising and falling, as he tried to determine who was already here. There hadn’t been any ships nearby- at least, they had been the only ones to land in the ice field. And there were only the initiates in the caves with him.

“This was easier when I was a youngling,” the Jedi mused to himself. “I seem to recall crystals dripping from the ceilings. Now… nothing.”

He was familiar- that solid stance, the deep voice, and when he half turned, Obi-wan recognized his strong profile. His breath caught in his throat.

Qui-gon turned sharply at the noise, blue eyes narrowed. “Who’s there?”

Obi-wan sank deeper into the shadows, drawing the Force around him like a cloak. This was not Qui-gon of the Here and Now- this was Qui-gon of the past. There was no gray in his hair, no crow’s feet around his eyes. His beard was just beginning to show a bit of salt and pepper at the edges, but Qui-gon had once complained that his beard had never been fully brown, so that meant very little. Obi-wan would have guessed him to be in his twenties.

“I heard you,” Qui-gon said, stepping towards Obi-wan. “I know you’re there. What are you? A ghost? A vision?”

Obi-wan lingered, hands clenched to fists inside his mittens. He was still mad at Qui-gon. It was immature and a little pathetic, but he was. He couldn’t help that he wasn’t as powerful as Anakin. He couldn’t change that he had never been as promising a student as Xanatos. The man standing before him was strong and powerful and brave. He never would have chosen the scrap of an initiate that Obi-wan had been for his apprentice.

Obi-wan wanted to slip away. He wanted to complete this quest for himself. But the Force buoyed around him, pushing him forward. It made his blood sing with resonance, made his ears ring with the strength of it. To stay in the shadows was to directly disobey the Force.

“I am, from a certain point of view,” he said, shoving his hands into their opposite sleeves. It was difficult with the mittens, but he managed.

Qui-gon crossed his arms again. “What’s that supposed to mean? Do you have a name?”

Obi-wan hesitated at that, then answered simply, “Ben.”

“Ben.” Qui-gon repeated. “I was not aware of another Jedi undertaking the Gathering at this time.”

Obi-wan inclined his head. “Neither was I, yet here we are.”

I didn’t know you had lost your lightsaber, he thought. But he did not say it. He didn’t even know if this was real or not.

Qui-gon frowned and half turned away. “Have you had better luck in finding kyber crystals than me? I seem to be looking in the wrong place.”

“Clearly,” Obi-wan said, standing at the edge of the room. “Or else you would be back on your warm ship by now.”

“Discomfort is not my concern,” Qui-gon replied. Something caught his eye- he strode to the wall and dropped to a knee to brush at it with his glove, but it was only a chip out of the icy wall.

“I am well aware,” Obi-wan muttered, rolling his eyes. He lingered for another moment, watching the younger version of his master, then started towards the opposite end of the room.

“Where are you going?” Qui-gon straightened, brushing ice dust off his knee. “This is the cavern where Master Dooku found his own kyber-”

“It’s empty now, isn’t it?” Obi-wan shot a glare over his shoulder. “There are no crystals here.” He turned abruptly and started walking, his boots crunching on the trail. He didn’t bother with a flashlight- the Force was so loud in here that he could sense every pebble on the floor.

He felt Qui-gon’s gaze on him for another moment, then heard footsteps. Qui-gon’s flashlight bounced wildly off the walls as he caught up. “You seem tense,” he said.

Obi-wan shot him a side-eye, but did not respond.

“The Gathering is an honor,” Qui-gon said. “And yet you act like it’s a chore.”

Obi-wan shot a sidelong glare towards Qui-gon, but refused to say anything else as he descended deeper into the caves of Ilum.

Qui-gon walked beside him in silence for another few moments. Obi-wan sensed his curiosity. It brushed him the wrong way- he did not want to be here, with his old master. He wanted to be on his own, finding his crystal. Not dragging the ghost of Qui-gon’s glory days behind him.

“Have we met, Ben?” Qui-gon asked finally. “I feel as though I know you.”

“In a way,” Obi-wan said, being deliberate vague. He was rewarded by a frustrated furrow of Qui-gon’s brow.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean precisely what I said.” Obi-wan stopped short, tilting his head to glare up at Qui-gon. The flashlight threw wild shadows over his features. “It does not matter who I am to you. You’ve made that abundantly clear.” He turned on his heel and continued walking.

Qui-gon remained silent for a minute, then hurried to catch up. “I sense animosity within you,” he said. “You are from my future. I hurt you.”

Obi-wan stopped short. That was somehow both too accurate, and too simple.

Qui-gon stopped behind him. “Ben?”

“I said, it does not matter.” Obi-wan turned. He knew he looked and sounded sulky. He didn’t care. “Let’s focus on the Here and Now, shall we? I need a new lightsaber.”

“As do I.” Qui-gon gestured. “Clearly, that is why we are both here. The Force wanted us to meet at this moment.”

Obi-wan opened his mouth to reply, but then he heard something, just on the edge of his awareness. He froze, tilting his head to better listen.

A lightsaber’s hum. Running feet. Obi-wan tilted his head, trying to pinpoint the noise, then took off running.

Qui-gon, obnoxiously, ran after him, loping easily along. “What do you sense?” he asked, but Obi-wan was too focused to answer.

The tunnel opened into a wider cavern and the trail dropped off beneath him. Obi-wan backpedaled, nearly falling down the steep slope, only for Qui-gon to grab him by the coat and haul him back to solid ground. He opened his mouth to ask again what Obi-wan had heard, but Obi-wan held up a hand for silence.

Qui-gon shut his mouth obediently. That was shock enough that Obi-wan nearly lost his concentration, but he shook himself and focused. The sound of a clash was louder now, but the Force was so loud that Obi-wan could not sense the combatants.

Obi-wan, someone whispered in his ear, and Obi-wan whipped around.

“Stop that,” he snapped at Qui-gon.

“Stop what?” Qui-gon held his hands aside innocently. “I haven’t done anything.”

“You keep whispering at me. I’m trying to focus.” Obi-wan turned away and started to pick his way down the steep path. There was dim light here, though he couldn’t see the source. Water dripped further on- at the bottom of the slope was an underground stream trickling merrily along, waters deceptively cold.

“I am not whispering,” Qui-gon said. A bit of offense colored his voice. “I don’t whisper at people. I either speak, or do not speak.”

“Do or do not. Speak or speak not. Yes, we were both trained by Master Yoda.” Obi-wan stepped from the slope to the bank of the stream. The rocks were wide and smooth here- they looked like an easy trail, but wherever water splashed they were treacherously slick.

“What did I do to you?” Qui-gon asked, following. He narrowed his eyes when he stepped to the rocks- his extra height made them all the more treacherous. “You’re very belligerent-”

“Don’t lecture me, Ma-” Obi-wan turned sharply, narrowing his eyes, but caught himself before finishing the last word.

Qui-gon finished it for him. “Master! You’re my Padawan?”

Obi-wan glowered at him, then decided the silent treatment was a better path. He picked his way carefully along the rocks, speeding up as he figured out his balance. The stream chortled dark and deep beside him.

The sound of a fight suddenly vanished. Then the running feet came, louder and closer, and Obi-wan ducked back as a form flew from the shadows.

The figure landed in a crouch, face hidden by his hood. Obi-wan flinched away, breath catching- he recognized that lightsaber. It was too long. He recognized the way the hood puckered over the horns, the way he kept his weight on the balls of his feet, the graceful, brutal line of his posture.

Be careful. The whisper was loud in Obi-wan’s ear. It came with such force that it lifted his hair, made a shiver run down his spine.

“Be careful,” he echoed the ghost, holding an arm out between Qui-gon and the Sith.

Qui-gon looked down at the arm, then up at Obi-wan. “Of… what, Ben?”

Obi-wan glanced at Qui-gon, then back at the Sith. “He’s-”

The Sith lifted his head, yellow eyes burning bright in the dim cavern. Obi-wan stepped back- he didn’t mean to. He tried to stay strong, but he pressed his arm into Qui-gon’s chest, pushing him back.

The Sith straightened from his crouch, and in a graceful swoop, ignited his saber.

Obi-wan reached for his belt, but he had only a borrowed Temple saber- when he tried to ignite it, it sparked and fizzled in the cold. “No,” he whispered to it, stepping between Qui-gon and the Sith. “No-no-no-”

“Ben!” Qui-gon dropped a hand to his shoulder. “There’s nothing-”

Obi-wan elbowed him back more viciously than he’d meant- Qui-gon fell back with a muffled oof and Obi-wan stepped forward, splashing into the stream. His boots immediately soaked through, but he didn’t even feel the cold.

“Kenobi,” the Sith said, in a deep, honey-smooth voice.

“That’s me,” Obi-wan said. The water splashed around his legs. “Are you going to introduce yourself this time, or simply stand there menacingly?”

He unscrewed the lightsaber’s butt at the same time as he talked, dumping the battery into his hand. He knew it was obvious what he was doing- he had to finagle through his layers to press the icy power cell against the warm skin of his hip. The cold sent a shockwave through his body.

The Sith’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes tracking the movement. He straightened from the fighting stance, though he left one side of his lightsaber ignited. It hummed in the darkness. “You think me menacing?”

“I think you’re trying to be menacing,” Obi-wan shot back. He turned the battery to warm the other side- it wouldn’t take much. If it weren’t a training saber, he wouldn’t even have to buy time. “But between you and me, I think you’re trying a bit hard. Tattoos and black cloaks?”

The Sith sneered. “Ignite your saber, Kenobi. Fight me- hand to hand! This time, I will not lose to a clumsy reject of a Jedi.”

“Give me your name then!” Obi-wan slammed the battery back into the saber and ignited it. It crackled brokenly, throwing chaotic green shadows across the dark water.

“Ben!” Qui-gon grabbed his saber arm. “You’ll freeze your-”

It wasn’t Qui-gon’s fault. He didn’t know how quick Obi-wan’s reflexes were. He didn’t realize that when Obi-wan was in fight mode, he was in fight mode. He didn’t register Qui-gon- all he knew was that someone grabbed him, and he turned with a side hook that sent blood splattering across the rocks.

Qui-gon hissed, falling back, grabbing his face. Blood streamed from under his hands.

Obi-wan whirled back, but there was no sign of the Sith. The cavern was almost too dim to see, except the crackling of his Temple-weak lightsaber. Obi-wan sucked in a breath, turning a circle. The water splashed around his feet.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Qui-gon flicked blood from his face to the ground.

Obi-wan turned. “I’m… I’m sorry.” He realized he couldn’t feel his feet and stepped out of the water, shivering from the cold rising up through his body. It had been instinct, and it was only because of his thick mitten that Qui-gon’s nose wasn’t broken.

“It was me,” Qui-gon said, glaring down at his bloody gloves and then back up at Obi-wan. “We’re both Jedi. Focus!”

“I am focused!” Obi-wan gestured to where the Sith had been standing. “Couldn’t you see him?”

“No, because there was nothing there.” Qui-gon sniffled and tried to rub the extra blood from his lip. “And you punched me!”

“You grabbed me.” Obi-wan deactivated the lightsaber. It hung limp in his hand. “I’m sorry- it startled me.” As soon as the vision of the Sith vanished, all the fight went out of him. He took a deep breath, willing the adrenaline to drain from his system.

“You shouldn’t have punched me for startling you,” Qui-gon said, narrowing his eyes. “What’s happened to you?”

Obi-wan thought about that for a second, then laughed politely. “A lot of things, Master.” He turned away and began walking again. He was thankful for the mittens that hid his trembling hands.

There was silence behind him, then Qui-gon hopped from rock to rock to catch up. “Your feet are wet- you need to get dry or you’ll freeze.”

“I’ll be fine,” Obi-wan snapped, continuing on as the cavern narrowed around them. The stream trickled along beside them, narrow and deep now. If one of them stepped in, it probably would have been to his knees.

“You’ll be fine, but you’ll lose your toes,” Qui-gon said. “Stop- I have a warmer.”

Obi-wan did stop, but he rubbed his temples. The constant echoing of the Force in his skull wasn’t giving him a headache yet, but the potential was certainly there. “You don’t have a warmer, because you’re a vision as well,” he said. “Thank you very much. May the Force be with you. I’m going this way.” He pointed down an offshoot of the tunnel.

“Alright,” Qui-gon said, but he had already pulled a short space heater from one of his pockets. When he turned it on, it glowed. A second later, Obi-wan felt the warmth against his face. “Does this feel real?” Qui-gon asked.

Obi-wan glowered at him. He considered storming off. But, vision or not, his feet were cold and there was warmth nearby. He hmmphed and grumbled, “I don’t have time for that,” though the heat drew him in like a moth. It wouldn’t take more than an hour. “The Initiates-“

“It will only take a few minutes,” Qui-gon said, setting the radiating heat stick between two rocks so he wouldn’t have to hold it. “Those are Temple issue boots. They’ll dry fast.”

Obi-wan dallied for another moment, but Qui-gon shot him a look that left no room for questions. Obi-wan was helpless against it, and though he knew this couldn’t be real, he huffed and took a seat against a boulder, pulling off his mittens so he could unlace his boots.

Obi-wan, someone whispered in his ear, and he jerked his head up.

“There’s nobody here but me,” Qui-gon repeated, standing patiently. “You’re very jumpy, for a Jedi.”

“I’m not jumpy,” Obi-wan said, turning his attention back to his laces. “I’m alert. You don’t happen to have an extra pair of socks?”

“You don’t?” Qui-gon reached obligingly into another coat pocket.

“One of the Initiates has them,” Obi-wan said, tugging out the insoles of the boots and setting both of them by the heat source. It wouldn’t take long to dry. They had been made for long missions without much downtime, and his socks had been damper than the boots themselves.

“The Force is with you then,” Qui-gon said, handing Obi-wan his spare pair. “It brought us together. I wonder what the reason could be.”

Obi-wan hmmphed at that as he swapped out socks. The air was chilly on his bare feet- he worked quick, aware of Qui-gon’s gaze.

“You trained with Master Yoda,” Qui-gon said after a second.

Obi-wan pulled his legs up so he was sitting cross-legged on the boulder in a meditative stance. “Haven’t we all?”

“You trained significantly with Master Yoda,” Qui-gon said, sinking to his knees. “I see many of his mannerisms in you. And yet I was your master?”

“Does that surprise you?” Obi-wan asked dryly, setting his hands on his knees. “Don’t worry- your other students will be strong in the Living Force. I’m the only one that tends towards the Cosmic side of things.” He closed his eyes, meaning to meditate for the hour or so it would take his boots to dry. He didn’t worry so much about the time- everything that happened here was meant to be.

“I was not worried.”

Obi-wan opened his eyes at that.

Qui-gon tilted his head. “Does that surprise you?”

Obi-wan grunted again and closed his eyes to meditate, doing his best to ignore this past version of his master- real or a vision, it did not matter here.

“I can sense your emotions, Ben,” Qui-gon said softly. “We have not met yet, but I sense that you will be an important part-“

“I am trying to concentrate,” Obi-wan interrupted. His voice came out gratingly loud, even over the sound of the underground stream.

Qui-gon shut up, but the sting he felt radiated through the Force. Obi-wan refused to feel bad, and tried to instead settle into meditation.

But he could not settle. The water was too loud, the sound echoing oddly through the cavern. The Force pulsed through here, following the current of the water. Obi-wan felt it flowing through him like a little eddy of a side stream before curling back into Ilum as a whole. And his heart beat too quickly after seeing the Sith.

He hadn’t realized how used to Anakin he’d become. The boy was a maelstrom in the Force, yes, but it gave Obi-wan an anchor, something to focus on to calm himself. He had only been training the boy for a few weeks, yet he already felt off balance without him.

No- he realized suddenly. It was not as though he had gotten used to Anakin. It was as though he had always known Anakin. As though they were meant to be close together, as ridiculous as that was. There was no such thing as fate, after all.

But they fit together- Anakin, a blazing sun of the Living Force, and Obi-wan, the background radiation of the Cosmic Force.

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer on Ilum. It threw him for a second- he pressed his palms into the boulder for balance. The Room of a Thousand Fountains stretched around him.

This- now this was a vision in the classical sense. His peripheral vision blurred. Thick fog drifted up from the water, obscuring the plants. He sat in front of the pool he normally avoided, the one with the prettiest waterfall.

“No,” Obi-wan said bluntly, but he didn’t think he could stop this vision even if he tried. He knew what would happen- it was a nightmare he’d had before, though most of the time he was able to wake himself up. It had faded over the years- he hadn’t seen this trauma in his dreams for ages.

And yet now it had been dredged up from the pit of his brain, and he knew even before the waterfall rippled in front of him.

He could not move. He was anchored to his meditative spot even as something stepped forth from the waterfall. He tried to break the vision- he tried everything he knew to bring himself back to Ilum.

The figure that stepped forward, standing atop the water like some ghastly old god, was Bruck Chun. His head was bent where his neck had broken. The Dark Side drifted about him, turning the fog gray and then darker. Obi-wan grit his teeth, breathing through the waking nightmare.

Bruck stepped forward. His Jedi robes were soaking rags now. His eyes were milky white. His hair hung lank and stained with seaweed.

When he spoke, his voice was ragged. Water flickedr from swollen lips. “Kenobi…”

“I didn’t kill you,” Obi-wan said. His mouth was dry- his own voice sounded cracked. “You know that. It was Xanatos and your own ambition-“

But he hadn’t seen this nightmare in so long, and Bruck’s ghost had not aged with Obi-wan. He was still small, a twelve year old killed in a fight that he didn’t truly understand. It was not horror at the ghost that made Obi-wan’s hands tremble, but grief.

“Kenobi…” Bruck repeated, drawing out the vowels with his dying breath. “You…”

Obi-wan tried to move. All his muscles strained, but he could not stand from his spot. Bruck stepped closer. Obi-wan could smell him now, clammy flesh and rotten water and the slick feel of the Dark Side in his blood.

“This isn’t real,” Obi-wan tried to say, but not even his mouth worked anymore. He was frozen as Bruck stepped closer. His lank hair stuck to the sides of his bloated face.

Bruck stepped to the shore. Mud made sucking noises against his feet. Obi-wan’s heart pounded against his sternum. He gagged on the smell of meat and Bruck creapt closer.

His lips felt numb- he couldn’t scream. Bruck reached towards him, teeth bared even as his neck bounced limply on broken bones. His fingers were bony, flesh stripped by the little fish of the pool.

Obi-wan tried to pull away- he tried. But when he inhaled it was all the Dark Side, thick and cloying and rotting in his lungs. Bruck loomed in front of him, no longer a child- a bloated, broken monster. Obi-wan gagged on it, reaching for the light, but only the darkness responded.

Bruck’s hands met his face, cold and slimy and dripping fountain water. Obi-wan tried to scream- it ripped through his chest only to be stopped by his frozen mouth. Bruck’s fingers trailed over his face- over his eyes and nose and mouth, and he tasted fountain water-

“Ben?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, moaning as the Dark engulfed him. There was no light- there was only the ghost’s bony fingers digging into the soft part of his neck. The Force was deep and cold and spoiled-

“Ben!”

Bruck’s fingers broke Obi-wan’s skin- the sting blossomed like poison and blood ran hot down his neck. Bruck hissed, lank hair brushing Obi-wan’s mouth. Obi-wan moaned through clenched teeth, trying to move, willing just his hand, just one finger-

“Padawan!”

Obi-wan’s eyes shot open and then he could scream and throw Bruck away. He fell forward, dry heaving, spitting the taste of Dark Side and dead hair. Someone touched his back and he tried to elbow the hand away but-

-but he was on all fours on the cave floor, fingers clenching against the rocks. His stomach clenched and he sat back on his heels, covering his mouth as the nausea rolled through him.

“Breathe, Ben,” Qui-gon said, hovering awkwardly, hands outstretched without actually touching. “You had a vision.”

“I know.” Obi-wan focused on one point on the wall. The Dark Side still felt slick around him, though it seemed to be fading some. He glanced at Qui-gon, almost sheepish.

“It took my calling you ‘padawan’ to break you from it,” Qui-gon said, stepping back to give Obi-wan some room. “You weren’t responding.”

Obi-wan wiped the back of his sleeve over his mouth and stood up. “Thank you,” he said, and went to check his boots. They were mostly dry- he must have been out longer than he thought. But when he bent down to pull the first one on, his balance shifted. He stumbled.

Qui-gon grabbed his arm, steadying him. Obi-wan huffed, more annoyed at himself than anything else, then sat back against the rock to pull his boots back on.

“I’ve never had a vision,” Qui-gon said after a moment. “You’re the first thing I’ve seen that wasn’t truly there.”

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow, but started lacing his first boot. 

“What did you see?”

Obi-wan knotted the laces, then started working on the other boot. “Nothing that concerns you,” he said. He felt drained now- first the Sith, then Bruck Chun. “I’m going to keep moving. I need to find my crystal.”

He felt Qui-gon’s gaze following him as he started walking. For a hopeful moment, he thought his master was going to stay behind and go his own path.

And then he followed, at a half step behind Obi-wan. It was an out of body experience, taking the lead ahead of Qui-gon. But Obi-wan said nothing, and neither did his old master.

They walked along the stream, deeper into the caves.

…

After a time- Obi-wan could not have guessed how long- the tunnel of the stream opened into a cathedral of a cavern. The air shifted enough to make Obi-wan’s ears pop when he stepped out into the massive space. The stream they had followed emptied into a wide lake. The waters were dark and mirror-smooth.

“The Force is strong here,” Qui-gon said. Though he spoke softly, his deep voice echoed across the water. “We should stick together.”

“Or perhaps this is where we break apart.” Obi-wan stepped towards the shore. The wide rocks of the stream’s bank turned into smaller pebbles that crunched beneath his feet. There was no ice here and he was sweating under his thick overcoat, so he dropped it on a rock as he headed down to the water.

The coat slid to the ground in a heap. Obi-wan ignored it, drawn forward. What drew him, he could not say. But the glasslike surface of the lake intrigued him.

Behind him, Qui-gon picked up his coat for him, before stripping some of his own layers. “Ben, wait.”

Obi-wan half turned back at the sound of a command, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t want me here,” Qui-gon said. He folded his own coat, then caught up with Obi-wan in a few loping steps. “Why?”

Obi-wan grimaced, then turned back to the water. “I want what the Force wants,” he said. “The water is important.”

It was Qui-gon’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Yes. I sense it too. But I’m more interested in you-”

“No, you aren’t.” Obi-wan took another half step towards the lake, tilting his head towards it. The Force drew him. He heard the whispers and the breath of it sent chills down his spine. “I don’t have time to discuss it.”

“You do.” Qui-gon gestured. “That lake is not going anywhere, but you clearly are. Why are you trying to lose me?”

Obi-wan stepped back towards the water again, his foot moving before his brain could register it. Qui-gon narrowed his eyes and grabbed his arm with an iron-tight grip. “Ben. You are my vision, and you will tell me-”

The Force screamed around Obi-wan and he flinched away with a grimace. “Don’t try to kriffing influence me,” he snapped, jerking his arm back. “I’m not the vision here. You are.”

“Then there is no harm in telling me what is wrong!” Qui-gon gestured widely. “You’re about to throw yourself into that lake- I feel the pull too. So why hold back? Tell me what-”

“The fact that you’re interested proves you’re not real!” Obi-wan’s voice cracked on the word real and he turned away sharply. “I’m not your padawan anymore,” he explained after a second. He tried to sound reasonable, but it just came out as sullen. “I don’t know why I’m seeing you here. I’m…” He looked back towards the water, then huffed and started to unlace his boots. “I’m throwing myself in the lake.”

“Bad idea.”

They both turned sharply towards the new voice, and Obi-wan bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood. “Oh no,” he said, dropping his hands from his laces. “Blasted visions.”

Xanatos Du Crion stepped forward from the shadows. Tall, dark haired, and handsome as a lynx, he surveyed the two of them, twirling the end of his padawan braid around his finger. “I wondered why I had not yet found my crystal,” he said. “I see now that the caves were waiting.”

He couldn’t have been more than seventeen. There was no sense of the Dark Side on him yet, but the Force felt slippery around him. If Obi-wan didn’t know him, he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“Master,” Xanatos said, bowing his head to Qui-gon. “It is good to see you, even if I left my version of you back at the Temple.”

Obi-wan straightened, pushing away the compulsion to jump into the mirror-dark waters. “Xanatos,” he said.

Xanatos turned towards him, blinked twice. “You’re… ah, you’re one of the younglings. I taught a class on meditation to you once, do you remember? You’re grown up now. What was your name, again? Forgive me for forgetting.”

“That’s Ben,” Qui-gon said, looking between them. His brow was furrowed. “You are to be my apprentice as well, Xanatos?”

Obi-wan rubbed the bridge of his nose, turning away. He had no desire to deal with this vision. The last time he had seen that handsome face, it had been eaten away by acid. Now, seeing him again, the smell of rending flesh came back to him. He fought the urge to gag.

“Yes.” Xanatos tilted his head, lips curled in a smile, then bowed deeply. “It is good to meet you, Master.”

Qui-gon’s beard twitched in a smile of his own, and he bowed back. “And you as well, Padawan.” When he straightened, he shot Obi-wan a glare.

Obi-wan stepped towards the water again, considering. Perhaps the two visions would go off with each other to find their imaginary crystals, and he would be left in peace. Or maybe he would get lucky, and one of the Initiates would burst in and wake him from this nightmare.

“Ben, I am assuming you’re from both of our futures,” Xanatos said, reaching to touch his shoulder. “Tell me, what is it like being Qui-gon Jinn’s second apprentice?”

Obi-wan jerked his shoulder away, trying to suppress a shudder at the touch, then started walking. He would not give in. Not like this.

“He is testy,” Qui-gon said. In the wide open space, his voice was audible even as Obi-wan drew away. “I believe he is angry with me, but he refuses to say why.”

Xanatos chuckled. “I suppose I am the better apprentice then. Sorry, Ben!” he called after Obi-wan. “I seem to have won this round.”

“But you will always lose,” Obi-wan grumbled at the rocks beneath his feet, keeping his voice low as to not carry back to them. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the anxiety curling through him. It was louder than the Force itself, and he needed to focus past the slick corruption of Xanatos.

“Ben!” Qui-gon’s voice trailed from the distance. “Ilum has brought us together- do not walk away-”

“Ben.”

Obi-wan turned sharply at the woman’s voice. It was muffled by a pale blue Mandalorian helmet, but it still sent a shiver through his body.

Satine stood further from the shore. Though her face was hidden, he felt her gaze. This was false- a vision- she hadn’t worn her armor since she had become ruler of Mandalore. It was painted white and pale blue, and the peace-lily was painted on her breastplate in a sweeping style of leaves and petals.

And though it was false, he was drawn towards her. “Satine,” he whispered, holding out a hand to her.

She stepped back, helmeted face tilting slightly.

He paused, dropping his hand. “Satine, I’m sorry-”

“You left me, Ben,” she said, her voice low and mournful.

Her closeness made him tremble. He longed to draw her in, to hold her tight even through the cold beskar’gam. But even as a vision, he would not touch her against her will. So he waited, chest tight and aching.

“You know I did not want to,” he said softly.

“But you left,” she replied, stepping back another step. “You left me alone, Ben.” She hugged herself around her middle. Her armor clinked against itself. “What am I to do?”

“What do you mean?” Obi-wan stepped forward again, a hand outstretched. “You’ll do what you always do, Satine. You’ll lead your people. You’ll bring peace.”

“But I can’t do this alone.” She turned away, hunching into herself. “I can’t be alone, Ben. I can’t do this.”

“You can’t do what?” He touched her shoulder. The metal was bitingly cold against his finger.

Her helmet tilted towards him. He could see himself reflected, dark and warped. “You already know, Obi-wan.”

“I don’t know, Satine.” He tilted his head, then reached out to touch the side of her helmet. When she didn’t pull away, he ran his fingers down to undo the clasp and lift it from her head, careful not to catch her hair.

Her eyes were big and watering when she looked at him. She still hugged herself. “You already know,” she whispered. “You have to know. You’re a Jedi. You feel these things.”

“What are you talking about?” He drew her forward, brushing away a hot tear as it trailed down her cheek.

“I…” She closed her eyes, grimacing. “If you do not sense it… I cannot tell you.”

“What?” He frowned. “Satine, just explain-”

The lightsaber took off her head and blood splattered hot in Obi-wan’s eyes, his mouth, over his hands and coat and-

-the scream ripped through his lungs-

-he fell to his knees. The body flopped heavy against his chest-

-Xanatos stood over him, shaking his head.

“You’re welcome, Ben,” he said, and reached down to pat Obi-wan’s cheek. “Mandalorians are our enemies.”

And the cave warped and Obi-wan was on the ground, gasping for breath even as Xanatos knelt over him, one hand on his forehead. “A vision,” Xanatos said gently, drawing his hand back. “Don’t worry- you’re free of it now.”

“You collapsed,” Qui-gon explained, brow drawn up in sympathy. “The Force is strong here- it is not uncommon-”

Obi-wan jerked away, pushing up to his hands, and this time the nausea overtook him. Xanatos knelt beside him, gently rubbing his back, and that made it worse as he choked on his own acid.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled when he could breathe past the burn in his sinuses.

Xanatos drew his hand back innocently and shrugged a little at Qui-gon. It was a helpless I tried sort of shrug, and Obi-wan’s blood ran hot. He spat bile and sat up, rubbing his sleeve over his mouth and trying to breathe. His head throbbed. He thought desperately of the painkillers back on the ship, or better yet, the bottle of liquor back home at the Temple.

Xanatos offered a bottle of water. Obi-wan ignored it, unwilling to drink anything from the Dark Sider, and hauled himself to his feet.

“Can’t you sense it?” He asked Qui-gon. His voice sounded cracked and raw. “He’s been bad from the start.”

“Me?” Xanatos frowned. “What did I do? I only helped you.”

Obi-wan let out a hiss of a breath, remembering the weight of a slaver’s collar around his neck, then turned away. “I need to find my crystal,” he said, turning towards the lake. It stretched dark before him. Now, when he stood at the shore and squinted, he could see the glow at the bottom. The crystal was here. He needed only to dive down to it.

This time, when he unlaced his boots, Xanatos and Qui-gon only watched. He peeled off his socks with trembling fingers, then his outer layers until he wore only his leggings and the under-tunic. Then he stepped forward.

The water lapped cool around his feet, then his knees, then his waist, the same temperature as the air. Qui-gon and Xanatos watched him, but he did not turn back. The Force drew him onward. When it was as deep as his chest, the ripples dancing through his reflection, he took a deep breath and dove.

The waters were black around him, but so clear he could see the glow of a crystal in the center of the lake. He kicked towards it, eyes fixed on the light. When it was directly beneath him, he came up for air. But the water rippled and he heard a splash-

He turned, treading water, to find that Xanatos had followed him.

“Go to hell,” Obi-wan hissed under his breath, and dove.

He would not lose this crystal to a vision of Qui-gon’s first apprentice. He struck out deeper into the dark waters. His sinuses burned from acid and pressure as each stroke brought him deeper. It was clear all the way down, but dark as deep space, with only the star of that crystal to guide him.

Xanatos grabbed his leg. The snarl was garbled through the water, but Obi-wan kicked at his face, twisting around.

Bubbles and blood puffed up as his foot made contact. Xanatos screamed and clawed at Obi-wan, fingers digging into the skin at his thigh and hip. Obi-wan thrashed around, aiming for Xanatos’ face, but teeth buried deep into his wrist. He cried out at the pain, unable to see past the dark and the bubbles and the Force hot and screaming in his head.

Their heads broke the surface.

“You won’t take my kyber!” Xanatos snarled, braid soaked and plastered to his cheek. “You little bastard- I won’t lose it to Jinn’s second pad-“

Obi-wan punched him, teeth grit, and then kicked away and dove again. Xanatos grabbed him again, this time hauling him up with the Force.

Obi-wan thrashed away, grabbing the Force to himself, then lashing out. Xanatos’ head snapped back, and Obi-wan thought he’d broken his neck. But he floated in the water for only a second before reaching upwards with one hand.

The Force screamed and Obi-wan heard the stalactites crack far overhead. He gasped and dove, kicking downwards, and when the rock hit the water it sunk with a current that sucked Obi-wan down so deep and fast that his ears popped and his sinuses seemed to crack with the pressure.

He hit the lakebed so hard that it cut his shoulder. He tasted blood, salty in the water, and opened his eyes.

The crystal glowed in front of him.

“I win,” he said, in a garbled mouthful of bubbles, and grabbed it. It glowed warm in his hand.

You found me, it seemed to say. You’re my Jedi, Obi-wan Kenobi.

He kicked upwards, lungs burning, following the bubbles. He swam up and up and up, chest heaving for air. He couldn’t tell when the black spots started because the water was too dark. All he knew was that he looked at the crystal in his clenched fist and he could not see it.

“No,” he tried to say, but when he opened his mouth he gasped reflexively, sucking in water. He coughed around it, trying to find the surface.

Someone grabbed him by the arm, hauling him up like a drowned princess. He came up, sputtering and choking, lungs burning. Xanatos lay dead in the water, floating like some bloated fish.

“Master?” Obi-wan asked, shivering as he hit the air. He grabbed onto the person who’d saved him, only finding metal and fabric- Mandalorian? No- similar, but not the beskar-

He blinked as oxygen brought his vision back, still coughing water, and looked up at the being that had saved him.

He looked into a black mask. His own face was reflected in those mirror-dark eyes. The sound of a ventilator echoed around the cavern.

“What are you?” Obi-wan asked, fingers clenched in the fabric of a cape. His breath trembled with the chill.

The vision deposited him on the shore of the lake, then stepped back. The ventilator was deafening in the cavern.

“Who are you?” Obi-wan tried again, clutching the crystal to his chest.

The man breathed, studying Obi-wan.

“Knight Kenobi!” Shama came racing from a passage. Obi-wan jerked around with a gasp at his name.

“I heard you yell.” The boy clutched a crystal of his own as he raced down the slope towards the lake. “Are you alright?”

“I…” Obi-wan looked back towards the vision of the suited man, but there was nothing there. They were alone, and his lungs burned. There was a hand-shaped bruise around his arm where the vision had hauled him up. He coughed, and more water came up.

“I’m fine,” he grunted, and opened his hand.

The crystal gleamed, real and warm and solid.

Obi-wan let out a damp breath, water flicking from his lips, and let his vision go dark again. The last thing he heard as he slumped was Shama’s desperate, “Knight Kenobi!”

Chapter Text

Anakin’s stomach was in knots as he stepped into the classroom. He was early so he could introduce himself to the teacher- Obi-wan told him it would be a good idea. But the teacher wasn’t here yet. There were only a few other initiates hanging around, chatting with each other about some drama that had happened in the training rooms. Apparently someone had nearly lost an eye during a spar.

But when Anakin stepped closer to them, they all fell silent and turned to stare. He hadn’t met them before- Aayla and her friends were a few years ahead of Anakin. These people were strangers.

“Hi.” Anakin waved awkwardly. “I’m Anakin.”

“Anakin,” a Twi’lek girl said. “You’re the new padawan that Master Jinn brought back.”

Anakin nodded. “Yeah. I’m from Tatooine.” He leaned against one of the desks, trying to act casual. “Who are you guys?”

The first girl pursed her lips. “I’m Mila,” she said, then gestured to her companions, a Rodian girl with dark green freckles and a human boy with hair pulled into a hundred tiny braids. “And this is Sola and Vim-qel.”

They both waved. Vim-qel dropped his hand back down to the table. “Was it true that you were actually a slave?”

His curiosity was tangible. It itched under Anakin’s skin.

“I was a mechanic,” Anakin said sharply. “I fix stuff. Ships and droids- I built a podracer.”

“But you were a slave mechanic?” Vim-qel pressed, stepping forward. “I heard Jinn bought you.”

“Shut up.” Mila shot a glare at him. “He’s just new.”

“Exactly. We don’t get new students here.” Vim-qel sat on the desk, tilting his head as he studied Anakin. “And he already has a master. Kenobi, right?”

Vim-qel’s voice was pleasantly curious, but his eyes were appraising, judging. Anakin knew what he looked like- a skinny new kid with hard eyes and a rough accent. He could not afford to be weak in front of his new classmates.

Anakin drew himself up and smiled obnoxiously bright, making his voice friendly and stupid. “Yeah. He picked me. Has a master picked you yet?”

The hit landed- Vim-qel’s eyes hardened. “Not yet, but a few masters have come to watch me spar. They know my midichlorian count is the highest in our year.”

“Oh, it is?” Anakin asked, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other.

“Yes,” Vim-qel said, crossing his arms. “Why? What’s yours?”

Obi-wan was good at shielding, and he was a good teacher. Anakin had picked it up quickly by mimicking how Obi-wan could open or close his mind to other Jedi at will. Now he dropped his shields- just a little, but enough so this boy could see what he was dealing with.

Vim-qel’s eyes widened. “What? What even are you?”

Anakin shrugged cheerfully as he tugged his shields back around his mind, dampening his presence again.

“No wonder the Sith Slayer picked him,” Sola said. Her eyes glittered with amusement when she elbowed Vim-qel. “I suppose you're not the strongest one anymore.”

The door opened again, and several other initiates walked in, followed by the teacher. She was a young Togruta woman- Knight Asa Lee.

“We were in our poli-sci classes together,” Obi-wan said, sitting on the teacher’s desk. They had followed Anakin’s schedule to this room, though it was empty today, the desks sitting barren, the holoprojector dark.

“She wanted to focus her training on diplomacy, but her master preferred sticking closer to the Temple. She was always a bit…” He flipped his hand over in a so-so gesture. “...cold towards me. She wanted my missions. Very intelligent woman, very skilled in the Force. You’ll learn a lot from her.”

“But she didn’t want to be a teacher?” Anakin frowned. “Wait- I thought Jedi were just Jedi. You have different jobs?”

Obi-wan inclined his head. “Qui-gon and I are diplomats and peacekeepers by trade. That’s the classical Jedi Knight that the rest of the galaxy knows. Unless you are drawn to another path, that’s how I’ll train you. But there are many paths. Teacher, caregiver, healer… farmer.”

“Ew, no way.” Anakin shook his head. “I’d never wanna be a farmer.”

Obi-wan tucked his hands into his sleeves. “Neither would I,” he said with a little half-smile. “I think you will do well as a peacekeeper. You have a strong sense of righteousness and good instincts towards what people need.”

“And I get to see the galaxy then, right?”

Obi-wan hopped off the desk and tousled Anakin’s hair. “Yes, Padawan. You get to see the galaxy too.”

“Alright,” Knight Lee said, holding her hands up as she walked to the front of the room. “Vacation is over. We have a lot to get through and not nearly enough time.”

She palmed the holoprojector on. The company’s logo rotated slowly in the center of the room until she plugged a little drive in. A menu appeared in the air- she swiped through until a list of names appeared.

“Here are your seating arrangements,” she said, flicking her hand to blow it up larger. “No, there will be no switching seats.”

There was a flurry of activity. Anakin swallowed and peered at the chart. Thankfully, he could read his own name. Less thankfully, she had placed him at the front of the room. He swallowed, then slid into his seat and placed his bag next to his seat.

Knight Lee waited until the chatter had died down and everyone was sitting. There was an odd, expectant feel to the Force. Not quite excitement- nobody was excited to be in class. But it was the feel of something new, the prickle in the air that came before a rare rain.

The door opened and another Twi’lek rushed in, panting. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I was talking to a master about-“

“That master should understand the importance of Algebra,” Lee said, raising one cream-striped brow. “You cannot expect to have any success in your future calculus and physics classes without this solid base. Have a seat, Initiate Balon.”

“Yes, Master.” She ducked her head, then slipped between the desks to come sit in the empty spot beside Anakin. She flicked her head to toss her speckled lavender lekku back as she opened her bag.

“Hey,” she whispered, leaning over. “I’m Jakka.”

“Anakin,” Anakin whispered back.

“I know,” Jakka said with a little grin.

“Initiates!” Lee clapped her hands together so loud it made Anakin flinch. “No talking. Initiate Balon, I do not want a repeat of last semester. Padawan Skywalker, I understand that you are new, but this means you must strive even harder to pay attention.”

“Padawan?” Someone asked from the back of the room, half jumping up. Anakin sensed outrage in the Force. “He’s a padawan already?!”

“Unit one.” Lee swiped through the menu to bring up a blank screen, using her finger to write. “The order of operations.”

Anakin glanced over to copy what Jakka was doing- she had activated her datapad to a blank note page and was copying what Lee wrote on the projection. The end of her stylus had teeth marks in it.

He activated his as well, digging through his bag for the stylus. When he opened the notes, he found there was already one there, written in stilted, awkwardly formal Huttese:

Anakin~

My apologies for not being present for your first day, but I have every faith that you will get along wonderfully. Pay attention. Ask questions. Take good notes. Practice your katas and we shall spar when I return.

~Obi-wan

Anakin felt warm at the note, though he almost laughed out loud at the language. There was a huge difference between the rich people school Huttese that Obi-wan was fluent in and regular talking Huttese. Every time Obi-wan wrote or spoke in Anakin’s first language, Anakin wanted to laugh. But he didn’t, because Obi-wan always looked so earnest and hopeful whenever he broke out the Huttese letters. Laughing at his stilted vocabulary would be like kicking a loth-kitten.

“Padawan Skywalker,” Knight Lee snapped, appearing directly in front of him. “Is the equation that amusing to you?”

Anakin swiped away Obi-wan’s note and opened a new page. “No. Sorry.”

She narrowed her eyes, then continued teaching. Anakin tried to keep up, scribbling down everything she wrote. At least this was math- he didn’t worry about reading for that. It wasn’t useful math at all, not like the stuff that Anakin knew for work. But it still made sense.

At least, these simpler equations did.

A notification popped up on the corner of Anakin’s datapad.

Incoming message from jakkbalon.temple.net

Anakin glanced over at her. She quirked a brow over the lekku draped over her shoulder. Anakin looked back down at his ‘pad and swiped open the message.

jakkbalon.temple.net: She’s nasty to everyone. Don’t worry about it, new kid.

It took him a second to read it, but he’d gotten a lot better since working with Obi-wan every day. Anakin smiled at her, then hastily scribbled the notes he’d missed. Then he opened the message again.

anakskywalke.temple.net: my master said she was a bitch. It’s ok

Jakka snorted out loud when she read the message, then clapped a hand over her mouth. But it was too late- Lee turned so quickly that her montrals bounced over her shoulders. “Yes, Initiate Balon?”

Jakka shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Apologies, Master.”

Lee narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps you would like to come up here and answer this question then?”

Jakka’s eyes widened. She glanced back towards someone else in the class, then down at her notes. “Yes. Of course,” she said, getting up and walking to the projector. Her lekku were pressed tight together down her back. She read over the problem, then glanced back at the class.

Her earlier confidence was gone. Anakin could sense her panic. He looked down at the problem- he’d already written it down on his own notes. He scribbled the Huttese hash marks underneath it so he could visualize it, then bit his lip as he tried to solve it.

“If you were paying attention, then it would come naturally to you,” Lee said, crossing her arms. “What’s the first step?”

“Um… the division.” Jakka wrote the step down. The class was silent, holding their breath.

Three, Anakin realized, looking down at his own work. Xesh equaled three.

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes, then reached out mentally. This had to be very careful- he wanted to connect only with Jakka, and not with Knight Lee. He could sense the girl, sense the panic freezing her mind.

Three, he thought, doing his best to make the thought as clear and precise as possible.

Jakka focused on him, panicked. He tried it again- THREE- but she twitched the end of her lekku in a tiny helpless gesture (Anakin had been around enough Twi’leks to know the meaning of the sign).

He gave up on telepathy- he couldn’t even have actual conversations with Obi-wan, let alone a girl he had met just that day. Instead, he wrote it on his datapad and flipped it around so she could see it.

But he didn’t erase it fast enough- Lee followed Jakka’s gaze even as Anakin hit undo.

“Giving her the answer will not help, Padawan Skywalker,” she snapped, walking over, a hand raised. Anakin tensed, waiting for the slap, but she only took his ‘pad and glared at it. “And these are Hutt numbers.” She turned towards him. “You cannot properly learn if you don't work in the correct number system. They have a base of eight rather than of ten. It will not work."

“Okay, but they’re easier,” Anakin said, shaking his head. “It’s just a quick translation. Sorry- I’ll stop.”

“I would appreciate that,” Lee said in an icy tone. She moved to set his ‘pad back down.

Maybe that would have been the end, but her thumb hit the icon for the open conversation with Jakka and it flashed open on the screen. Lee’s eyes flicked down at the light, then narrowed.

Lee looked up at Anakin.

Jakka made a sympathetic face behind her, looking far smaller than when she had strode in late.

“Kenobi says this about me?” she asked, pointing down at the datapad.

Anakin shook his head. “No- no, I was exaggerating. Obi-wan’s nicer than that.”

“So you are messaging in class,” Lee said, leaning over the desk to meet Anakin’s gaze. “Using crude language, lying, interfering in another student’s learning, and disrespecting me?”

Anakin narrowed his eyes and waited. Either she would hit him or she wouldn’t, but he was no slave anymore. He did not have to take this. “To be fair, you are kinda a bitch,” he said.

Her hands clenched into fists, then she raised one. Anakin braced for the strike, ready to absorb the pain of the blow, but she only pointed to the hall. “Go,” she snapped. “If you have no respect for this class, then you should not be here. I will be speaking with your master.”

Anakin stood sharply and shoved his datapad in his bag. “He killed a Sith Lord,” he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “I think he can take you.”

“No- it’s not Anakin’s fault.” Jakka’s voice was small, forced through her own panic. “I was talking to him first-”

“Sit down,” Lee snapped at her.

She shot Anakin an apologetic look and scurried back to her seat.

Anakin held his head high as he left the room. The door fell shut with a crash behind him, though he hadn’t meant to slam it. He didn’t stop- he kept walking, trying to outrun the angry embarrassment rippling through him.

He turned once, twice, then took a flight of stairs downwards, slamming down the steps until his anger turned to anxiety rolling through his belly. He regreted the giant breakfast sandwich he’d eaten before class. Alone in the stairwell, he sat down and dropped his head to his hands.

Not for the first time, he regretted coming here. School sucked.

He half pulled his datapad out and lit it up to check the time. He did the conversion in his head- if he were on Tatooine, it would be near the end of the day. He would be closing Watto’s shop, sweeping the sand off the floor, cleaning out the vents. Watto would be counting his money for the third time, and Mom would be out at the market haggling over new merchandise. She was the best at haggling. Her gentleness made people’s guard fall.

The conversation on the ‘pad lit up. Anakin bit his lip, then opened it.

jakkbalon.temple.net: sorrryyyyy!!!!!

He didn’t even have a chance to reply before she was typing again.

jakkbalon.temple.net: by the force she’s SUCH a bitch!!!!!!

jakkbalon.temple.net: also its so cool obiwan killed a sith, I thought they were all dead

jakkbalon.temple.net: he won’t be mad at you right??

jakkbalon.temple.net: it was completely my fault

jakkbalon.temple.net: i’ll tell him that if you want

Despite his anxiety, Anakin smiled. It took him a few minutes to type, translating what he wanted to say to the keyboard.

anakskywalke.temple.net: don’t worry obiwan’s cool. Hes off planet anyways making lightsaber.

jakkbalon.temple.net: good. Sorry. Youre in my saber class too right? That’s gonna be better, Mas. Ti is great

anakskywalke.temple.net: cant wait, see you

He flipped the conversation shut, feeling a little better about the whole affair, then checked the time again. Now he had meditation classes with Master Billaba in the Room of a Thousand Fountains- that couldn’t be as bad, right? It was just sitting still. For a whole hour. Without talking. Or moving.

He groaned and dropped his head to his hands again. He considered trying to call Obi-wan, but he knew his comm’s signal wouldn’t reach that far. And anyways, it wasn’t like Obi-wan would be any help anyways- he loved meditating. He meditated every morning, waking up early so he could just sit there and do nothing. Sometimes he meditated lighter and sipped his tea; sometimes he meditated heavier and then grumbled when it got cold. Anakin didn’t get it.

He groaned again, then got up and started trying to find his way to the Fountain room. He was pretty lost, but he knew what level the Fountain room was on, so he stepped out of the stairwell and started hunting for a lift.

He had never been on this floor before. There were a lot of big fancy rooms here, though the furniture was covered so it wouldn’t get dusty. He turned a corner and found the lift, but also a large set of double doors.

Anakin checked the time again- he had an extra minute, and he was curious.

His breath caught- he’d found a ballroom. It was dusty and unused, but the massive chandelier still glittered and the floor gleamed under the dust. He tried to imagine Jedi dancing like the kings and queens and princes and princesses on the holos he’d seen. He could not. Even just Obi-wan, he couldn’t imagine dressed in anything formal and beautiful. All he wore were Jedi robes, or sometimes just leggings when they were training.

There was something sad about it, sitting unused and neglected. The crystals on the chandelier tinkled at the shift in air from the opening door like a ghost saying hello.

He doubted the Jedi had parties big enough to fill this room. It made him sad- he loved a party, when everybody danced and sang and had fun together.

He closed the door quietly behind him, then headed towards the lift, resigning himself to an hour of meditation.

…

Vokara had said Qui-gon would have good days and bad days. Sometimes he would feel as though he had never been injured, and sometimes he would feel too weak to even get out of bed. Today, he was quite proud of himself for managing to get up and drink a cup of tea with Anakin before he left for classes.

But that was all he could do. The tea set his new guts rolling with nausea and there were shooting pains up his legs from misfiring nerves. Anakin had made him eggs, plain and bland as Vokara dictated, but they sat cold and untouched on the table. The smell of them made him feel worse, but he couldn’t summon the strength to rise from the couch. It was all he could manage to slump into the most comfortable corner of the couch.

He was proud of himself for not letting the boy realize how much he was hurting, but now the apartment was big and silent and empty. It occurred to him that soon it would be empty like this permanently- the housing requisition had sent out Obi-wan’s new room number.

It was silent. Somewhere within the walls, a vent kicked on. Footsteps passed the door then faded. Qui-gon shifted, drawing his legs on the couch, but then he realized his datapad was still in his room. He considered watching some trashy holoflick but the projector was too far away. Even the Force seemed slow to respond. His focus was broken each time his nerves pinged through his legs.

There were screws in his vertebrae, he thought as he stared at the ceiling. He imagined he could feel them, though he knew that was impossible. And his bowels were made of synth-flesh and his own cloned cells and yet he felt like he was rejecting them. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like he was going to throw up the tea he’d drunk earlier.

“Kriff this,” he muttered, dragging his hands over his face. But covering his eyes made it worse, so he forced himself to sit up, half dragging his body up by the cushions.

“You can laugh at me now,” he muttered, focusing on point on the wall.

But the apartment was silent.

He raised his eyes, looking around for the odd ghost that had haunted him since he woke up, but there was no sign of Not-Anakin. He didn’t think he would have missed the ghost, but as he set his chin on his hand, he realized he wanted someone around.

Well, he would have preferred Obi-wan’s company. But first he had to smooth the waters with his former padawan before they could slip back into their normal easy relationship. And he needed Obi-wan to calm down enough to listen to his apology. He didn’t expect forgiveness. Not right away, at least. But he and Obi-wan had been together too long, had too much history bonding them in the Force, for Obi-wan to remain angry forever.

Maybe after Ilum.

He would have liked to have had a moment to meditate with Obi-wan before he went to look for his crystal. The boy could get so caught up in the past and the future, and he needed to be present to find his crystal. But there was no meditating when Obi-wan was doing his best to remain busy away from Qui-gon.

(He remembered a time when he had thrown himself into work to avoid his own master, and this time the pain in his chest was completely emotional.)

He wondered, for a brief second, if it was possible that Vokara knew a better way to get Obi-wan to listen.

He resisted the thought- he didn’t want to stoop to having to ask the healer for help in getting Obi-wan to listen. But then his nerves sent another shoot of pain up his spine. He groaned through his teeth.

Vokara had said that meditation would help with the pain, but he could not focus on meditating through the pain, though the worries about Obi-wan, through the restless itch in his muscles. Despite the hurt, he wanted to move. He had been active before this, and now he felt his own stillness wearing on him. But he hurt too much for katas or even simple stretches.

He sighed. His options were either to sit here and suffer through the nerve pain, or go find Vokara and look for a low dose of painkiller. Not a full dose- he had no wish to fog his mind or, Force forbid, get hooked. But a small dose would take the edge off so he could focus enough to clear his mind.

The right answer was to comm Vokara or Padawan Cortana and ask one of them to come to him. But he wasn’t willing to give up that much autonomy, and it didn’t hurt that badly. He had had worse before. Hell, his very first mission with Obi-wan, he had taken a vibro-ax to the shoulder (nevermind that it had been more than ten years ago). He could walk to the Halls of Healing himself.

He made it down the hall to the lift. Inside, he had to drop his head against the smooth wall and take a breather, but when it opened he stood straight again so nobody would see his weakness.

As soon as he walked through the doors into the calm, peaceful Halls, the smallest healer caught sight of him. Arwen’s eyes widened. “Master Jinn!” she called, abandoning her schoolwork at the front desk and rushing over. “Are you alright?”

She stood awkwardly, hands outstretched to catch him in case he fell. It was ridiculous- if he fell, he was taking the tiny teenager down with him.

“There is no emergency,” he said gently, waving her off. “I was looking for Vokara.”

She raised her eyebrows- so young, and already with a healer’s derision. “You have an appointment?”

“I… no.” He frowned. “Do I need one?”

“No. No!” She backed up a step. “I mean, you’re just never here unless you have a- nevermind. I’ll put you in a room.”

She abandoned her studies and led him down the side hall, pushing open one of the exam room doors. Qui-gon took a seat in one of the chairs, falling heavier than he’d meant to. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until he could relax again.

“Are you alright if I take your vitals first?” Arwen asked, hovering. There was a purplish blush to her silver skin. “I’m trying to get more practice hours. There’s a training camp on Alderaan I want to apply to but they expect three hundred hours of active experience.” She made a face, glancing towards the hall. “Shadowing and manning the desk barely count.”

Though the walk had made the pain come with greater intensity, Qui-gon held out an arm. Far be it from him to take away the girl’s opportunity to learn. “Are you allowed to take training off planet?”

“My master says I can. She said she’d sign as my guardian if I got the hours.” She grinned and darted forward, grabbing a flimsi pad from the desk. She took his pulse first, manually by counting and watching the clock and jotted down the number, then hunted down the oximeter hanging from the wall. Each time she leaned over, her braid brushed his hand. “You’re a little low,” she said at the number, her brow creasing. She glanced towards the tube hanging from the wall.

“No thank you,” Qui-gon said, before she could suggest putting him on oxygen. He hated the feel of the tanked air in his nose.

Arwen bit her lip. “Okay… maybe after you’ve sat for a few minutes it will pop up yourself.”

Qui-gon let her play doctor for a few more minutes, checking his heart rate and blood pressure and respiration. When she came back to the oxygen level, it had in fact popped back up. It was still on the lower end, and Qui-gon didn’t like that it had dropped so much from a simple walk from his quarters. Still, at least the girl didn’t look worried anymore.

He wondered who her master was, so willing to let her follow her dreams out of the Temple, off world. He was sure that wasn’t actually allowed. He tried to imagine signing off on a paper for Obi-wan to receive training elsewhere, even temporarily.

He could not. He remembered Melida-Daan instead and felt sicker than before.

“Okay,” Arwen said after about twenty minutes (long enough that she could clock it as half an hour, Qui-gon realized). “I’ll go get Master Che.”

Qui-gon inclined his head, then allowed himself to slump when she left the room.

He straightened at the sound of Vokara’s snap from somewhere nearby- He came and you didn’t immediately tell me?

Then she flew into the room in her maelstrom of chaos and Qui-gon straightened up. “Don’t yell at the girl,” he said. “I’m not dying.”

“She does not have the authority to work unsupervised,” Vokara snapped, pointing at him. “And you should not have encouraged her. It’s a liability.”

“Are you afraid that I would sue?” Qui-gon asked, raising an eyebrow. “I hate to inform you, but I have no money for lawyers.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I am afraid that you’ll drop dead on the girl and ruin her confidence and potential.”

“Then give her the hours for her medical camp,” Qui-gon said, crossing his arms. “She seems quite capable.”

“Her camp.” Vokara snorted and crossed her own arms. “She will have her hours when I’m through with her, but when the Council catches wind of it, they will shut her down. It’s expensive, and I doubt they will offer her the money.” Her voice was still hard, but her lekku took on a limp expression. “Damn her master for giving her hope, unless she plans on paying the fees herself.”

Then she shook herself. “Why are you here? You haven’t come here voluntarily before.”

“And I shan’t again, if everybody keeps pointing it out.” Qui-gon leaned back in the chair.

Vokara raised a brow.

Qui-gon sighed. “The pain is worse today,” he admitted. “I was hoping for something to ease it, somewhat.”

Vokara nodded, then glanced down at Arwen’s handwritten notes. “And your oxygen is a bit low.”

Qui-gon bit back the frustration. “Yes. I walked here.”

“You should have called me.”

“I was fine.”

“These numbers say you weren’t.”

“And yet I’m alive.”

“Take your robes off.”

“Improve your bedside manner.”

But he shrugged off his outer layers, already regretting this. He should have just sat in his empty apartment and listened to the thoughts bouncing around in his own skull. But he fell silent and let Vokara examine him.

“Well your incisions have healed properly, and there’s no sign of infection,” she finally said. Qui-gon could have already told her that.

She considered his chart. “I can prescribe-”

“I don’t want a full dose,” he interrupted. “I don’t need it.”

She inclined her head. “As I was saying, I will prescribe the correct amount, and you are certainly welcome to take less than that.” She tilted her head. “I have no worries about you, Jinn.”

He hmmphed at that, but nodded.

She stood. “Was that all?”

He nodded sharply. She nodded as well and took a step towards the door.

“I hope you took my advice about Kenobi,” she said.

Qui-gon winced. But she was the one to bring him up, not him. “Obi-wan is angry,” he admitted. “He isn’t particularly interested in talking.”

Vokara hovered by the door, her back half turned. She hummed lightly.

“He barely said goodbye before he went to Ilum,” Qui-gon added, unable to keep a bit of irritation from his voice. “It was as though he were trying to sneak out.”

“Ah,” Vokara said softly.

“He is not jealous of Anakin,” Qui-gon added, so she wouldn’t think less of the boy. “I thought that maybe- but he adores Anakin. He’s only angry with me.”

One of her lekku twitched softly against the other. She half turned towards him.

“I understand, of course.” Qui-gon waved a hand. “But it still…”

Vokara silently sat in the other chair, knees pressed together to make her seem smaller, Arwen’s notes in her lap.

“He won’t listen to me,” Qui-gon said. “I told him I was sorry. And I understand that forgiveness can only come from within his heart, but it still… stings…”

He realized he was monologuing, and that Vokara had somehow dampened her presence into the perfect listener. He swallowed, feeling a little raw at letting that frustration out, but for once there was no judgement on the healer’s face. Instead, it had softened.

“Your feelings make sense,” she said, her tone dropping to something low and soothing. It was the sort of tone Qui-gon would use with a scared animal, and it grated that she was using it on him. “You need that forgiveness from your padawan. But forgiveness for what?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Neither of you has directly told me what happened on your mission,” she explained, folding Arwen’s notes together in her lap. “But whatever it was has clearly affected both of you.”

He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. “And don’t tell me it doesn’t matter, or it’s in the past, or any of that nonsense, because Kenobi looked like he was about to cry last time he stormed out here,” she said. “Clearly it is affecting both of you, and it is starting to have an effect on your healing. Tell me.”

Qui-gon tried to resist. But his nerves kept sending bolts through his body and though the nausea had eased somewhat, he was tired. That was the long and short of it- he was tired.

“Trust me,” she added, but there was no softness to her tone this time. It was an order.

He let out a breath. “Anakin needed to be trained, but I was the only master willing to take him on. But that required recommending Obi-wan for the Trials. I did not… consult him first. It was in the moment.”

Vokara nodded slowly, letting out a breath. “Ah,” she finally said. “I see.”

“Do you really?” Qui-gon couldn’t stop the irritation that colored his voice. “He thinks I chose the boy over him. He doesn’t understand that it was the best decision in the moment. I had to secure Anakin’s training. He is the most powerful Force user in… hundreds of years, at least. His potential alone is staggering-”

“I agree with you.”

He stopped short at that.

Vokara inclined her head. “Anakin does need to be trained. I agree with you.”

“So you see why I made the decision I did,” Qui-gon said, hands clenched.

“I do,” Vokara said. “And I believe Obi-wan does as well, or he would not have claimed Anakin as his own.”

Qui-gon grit his teeth. “So why is he angry?”

Vokara tilted her head, one of her lekku falling forward over her shoulder. “Why do you think?”

Qui-gon rubbed a hand over his beard and fought down the rising frustration, the exhaustion that dragged at his mind, the pain that ate at his body. He almost wished the ghost-hallucination would appear to break him out of his own head, but the room remained stubbornly empty except for the healer. And she had shielded herself, making herself small and insignificant.

“I didn’t want an apprentice, when I took him on,” Qui-gon said, just to fill the silence that stretched between them. “Yoda sent him to me. He manipulated us both, the old bastard.” He felt himself soften. “It had nothing to do with Obi-wan. I would have refused any apprentice. But Obi-wan… chose me as well.” He turned away slightly so he couldn’t see the healer’s too-kind eyes. “He chose me in a way that my own master and my former padawan never did.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vokara nod. But it was not so simple. He rubbed his hand over his beard again, trying to collect himself. But he thought of the message with the new apartment for Obi-wan and Anakin, and how empty and silent his own place would be.

“I rejected him outright,” Qui-gon said to the floor. “And then I rejected him again, and even when it proved to be the will of the Force, I still refused him. It was only when he tried to kill himse-”

“He what?”

 Vokara jumped up, papers fluttering, all semblance of kindly healer vanished. The storm was back with a force that startled Qui-gon out of his musing. He flinched into a defensive mode before remembering where he was.

“No,” he said, holding up a hand. “He was not suicidal. Self-sacrificial. A chain of events led to the moment, and he did not want to die, but he was only twelve and saw no other way. Thankfully, I did. Excuse my wording.”

Vokara opened her mouth, still looking livid. Qui-gon waved her off. “He was quite happy to have survived the occasion, I promise you. The boy has never shown any tendency- you know this, Che. He’s fine.”

“You are certain?” She took a half step towards him, body tensed. She hadn’t had all the combat experience that Qui-gon had, but in that moment, he was more afraid of her than any specially trained soldier.

“Of course I am certain,” he snapped at her. “I know my own padawan. I do care about him, no matter what happened on Naboo. It seems that everybody forgets that.” He felt his fists clench despite himself, but he couldn’t take the anger out on a practice droid nor could he flee off planet on a mission. The emotion remained there in his chest, impotent yet all-consuming.

Vokara took a deep breath. Qui-gon sensed her releasing the pent up adrenaline into the Force, though he didn’t trust that she would remain tranquil forever. “Of course you do,” she said softly, sitting back down.

But Qui-gon was not interested in extending the impromptu therapy session any longer. He was relatively certain the doctor wasn’t supposed to yell at the patient, and he didn’t want to spend more time cooling Vokara’s nerves. “Have the drugs sent to my rooms,” he said brusquely, and stood up to leave.

She didn’t stop him, but he sensed Arwen tailing him the whole way, lest he collapse. When she got into the lift with him, she claimed she was going to get lunch from the commissary. He didn’t try to call her out, but only waved her off when he returned to his own door.

…

“Welcome back, Anakin,” Qui-gon said, rising when he heard the apartment door open. “How did you enjoy your first day?”

Anakin stepped quietly into the room, eyes turned downwards, shoulders hunched. His normally bright presence was muted. “It was alright,” he said, fingers clenched around the strap of his bag. “I have homework.”

“Ah. You should probably do it then.”

Anakin nodded and slipped past Qui-gon, heading towards the safety of Obi-wan’s room. He made himself small, slinking around the perimeter instead of barging across the center. Were Qui-gon not specifically watching him, his eyes would have skipped right over him.

It was easy to forget Anakin’s background. He was loud; he spoke his mind; he met people’s eyes with a defiant tilt to his chin. Obi-wan encouraged these outgoing traits with little bits of praise, smiles, and the occasional touch to the shoulder. Qui-gon had a feeling that Shmi had a similar way of lifting up her boy, and Watto himself hadn’t seemed particularly cruel, in terms of being a master.

So it was easy to forget that Anakin had tasted cruelty. Easy until now, when he slipped out of sight.

Qui-gon still stood alone in the main room, feeling slightly lost. He had not had to deal with this side of Anakin yet and for a helpless moment, he considered whether a comm signal would reach Obi-wan.

But Anakin would have been his padawan, had events gone differently, and this would have been his responsibility.

Anakin hadn’t closed the door all the way, but Qui-gon still knocked and waited for a murmured affirmation before stepping inside. “You seem troubled,” he said.

Anakin sat cross-legged on Obi-wan’s bed. His datapad was in front of him, but the screen was dark.

Qui-gon stepped forward and perched himself at the foot of the bed. Anakin’s eyes flicked up, but only to Qui-gon’s hands. He was careful to keep them both in sight as to not startle the boy. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Anakin swallowed and shook his head, mute.

“Did you enjoy your classes?”

Anakin shrugged, barely a tensing of his shoulders.

Qui-gon waited to see if Anakin would offer anything, but he did not. “I did not particularly enjoy classes either,” he admitted instead. “I was… free-spirited when I was your age. My own master had no idea what to do with me.”

He felt the boy’s attention rather than saw it, and shifted his own presence to be inviting and unthreatening. Anakin could trust him, and he needed to know that.

“It was odd when I began training Obi-wan,” he added. “He actually enjoyed the classroom. Our missions often kept us off planet, but he still kept up on his classwork.”

Anakin perked up a little at the mention of Obi-wan. Qui-gon continued in that vein, trying to draw Anakin out. “I remember one mission- he was probably about fifteen- and he had a project due in one of his classes. The paper was due in two hours, but our mission had been a challenge from the start, and the due date slipped his mind. So there we are, being quite literally shot at, and Obi-wan drops behind a wall and pulls out his datapad to start writing.”

This time, Anakin looked up to meet his eyes.

“He didn’t finish the paper,” Qui-gon admitted. “The ‘pad actually got shot out of his hands and burned his fingers. He couldn’t hold his lightsaber for a week.”

Anakin picked up the datapad, but still did not activate it. He bit his lip, fingers resting on the screen. “I don’t think I can do school,” he said.

“Of course you can, Anakin.” Qui-gon turned towards him, careful to keep both hands folded in his lap. “Whatever setback you had today is not the end. It is only a lesson, and you will learn from it, just as Obi-wan learned not to attempt his homework during a firefight.”

He shook his head. “I’m not smart,” he said. “I can’t meditate and I can barely read and everybody else knows everything already.” His fingers tightened on the datapad. “I’m gonna make it look like Obi-wan sucks at teaching.”

“You will not,” Qui-gon said, though he was a little surprised by the tangent. “It is clear that Obi-wan is doing a wonderful job teaching. I don’t think anybody could doubt that.”

“But it doesn’t matter if he’s good if I’m just stupid!” Anakin set the datapad down and drew his legs up to his chest. “Nobody cares that I can fix stuff here. That’s all I can do. I can’t do any of this other stuff. He keeps getting in trouble for me, and now they’re all gonna hate him ‘cause I’m an idiot. And then he’s gonna hate me too-”

“Stop that, Anakin.” Qui-gon reached out to touch the boy’s shoulder, but Anakin flinched away. Qui-gon winced at his own misstep and dropped his hand. “Obi-wan will not hate you. He chose you, remember?”

Anakin glared at the floor, arms wrapped tight around his folded legs. “Only ‘cause he was forced to.”

“He was not forced to, Anakin,” Qui-gon said. He tried to keep his voice gentle. “There were others who could have trained you. Obi-wan wished to take you on. Do not make light of his decision. Today was only the first day. If you did not do as well as you hoped, Obi-wan will understand. But he would tell you to keep moving forward, yes?”

Anakin didn’t shift from glaring at the floor, but he offered a small, “yeah.”

“Tomorrow will be a new day,” Qui-gon said. He moved slowly and deliberately to touch Anakin’s shoulder in the same way that Obi-wan so often did. “You must not live in your past mistakes. Be mindful of them, but focus on the present moment.”

This time, there was no flinch. Anakin leaned into the touch, drawing comfort from it. For a second, his vision of Obi-wan flickered into his mind, the desperate shade pleading for Qui-gon’s attention.

Then, to his utmost surprise, the boy uncurled himself and crawled closer to Qui-gon, leaning against him. “School still sucks though,” he grumbled, dropping his head to Qui-gon’s chest.

Qui-gon was not a particularly tactile person. A shoulder or arm touch was about as far as he went. Hugs were rare and if they did occur, barely lasted twenty seconds. Xanatos had never sought comfort from Qui-gon. Obi-wan occasionally needed grounding when he was younger and a panic attack would sweep him from the present, but that was a focused exercise in breathing and slowing the heart. Obi-wan had quickly learned to ground himself.

But Anakin was not his padawan. Anakin was simply a boy who had a stressful day in a new, strange place.

Qui-gon shifted to drape his arm around the boy’s small shoulders, and marveled at the blind trust and faith there. This traumatized little child trusted him, drew comfort from him. Despite Qui-gon’s failings, despite his rough edges and rocky past, the boy trusted him.

“School can suck,” he agreed, rubbing slow circles over Anakin’s arm with his thumb. “But I have faith in you.”

Chapter Text

“You had better not sneeze on my tools.”

Obi-wan jumped. He hadn’t heard the droid come in, nor had he sensed a shift in the Force besides the Initiates chattering across the hold. But Huyang stood behind him, both pairs of arms crossed. Somehow he was stern, despite having no expression.

“I wasn’t going to,” Obi-wan grumbled, not really in the mood for an argument or a lecture.

Huyang didn’t seem convinced. “You shouldn’t even be up yet, young Kenobi. You look dead on your feet. I don’t want to be scrubbing your sorry corpse off the flooring of my ship.”

Obi-wan tried to look proud, but he ended up sniffling disdainfully. It was difficult to be intimidating when there was snot constantly running from his nose. “I promise, if I feel like dropping dead, I’ll go do it in an airlock for easy cleanup.”

“I would appreciate that,” Huyang said, with a deeply formal bow of his head.

“No problem,” Obi-wan muttered, turning back towards the drawers of supplies. The crystal sat in his pocket, a tiny spot of warmth even through his robes.

He was glad he still had it. After the debacle of the caves, he’d come to wrapped in a heated blanket in Huyang’s arms on the way back to the ship. It was possibly the most embarrassing moment of his life thus far, and he’d been torn between thrashing to get put down or simply pretending to still be unconscious.

Huyang had made the decision for him- when he felt Obi-wan tense, he had simply dropped him on the ramp of the ship. Two of the Initiates had rushed over, fussing over him, and he’d waved them off, grumbling as he found his own balance.

It was the third, the little Changeling, who didn’t try to help. She waited until Obi-wan was on his feet of his own accord, then silently held out her hand. His crystal lay on her palm.

He had taken it, closing his own fingers around it even as he clutched the blessedly warm blanket around his shoulders. “Did you find your own?”

She nodded, a faint blush on her gray cheeks. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He had nodded, left the initiates to Huyang and Yoda, and dragged himself to his bunk with his crystal and the heated blanket. He roughly cleaned the cut on his shoulder, then stared at his wrist for a while where Xanatos had bit him.

There were no teeth marks, though he had felt his skin split, seen the blood in the water. Yet, when he checked his upper arm, there were still fingerprint bruises where he’d been hauled from the water.

He traced them over with his own hand, lined his fingers up with them. The skin was tender underneath. It must have been Huyang while picking him up, but Obi-wan could have sworn it happened when the dark-armored spirit touched him.

He coughed at the itch in his throat and dropped his hand, giving up. It didn’t matter anyways. He had found his crystal, and that was the important part.

“Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-wan jumped again at Huyang’s voice and shook his head. “Sorry. I phased out.”

“I was only saying, you cannot properly build your lightsaber if you have no focus.” Huyang considered him for a long moment. “Have you taken your temperature lately?”

Obi-wan grunted at the droid and shook his head. “I am focused,” he lied, like his thoughts weren’t drifting in every direction, like every pulse point in his body wasn’t throbbing through his head at once.

Huyang hummed. “And I’m sure nearly drowning had no side effects. Get some rest, Kenobi.”

“I’m fine,” Obi-wan insisted.

Huyang was silent for a long second. “A lightsaber is a dangerous piece of equipment,” he said. “Properly made, it will protect people and save lives. Improperly made, and it could become unstable and blow your hand off. Go to bed, Kenobi. I will not be responsible for your lost limbs.”

Obi-wan resisted for another minute. But Huyang’s glowing gaze sliced through him and he felt like a youngling getting reprimanded again. He gave a little half bow of respect that came out more sarcastic than he meant, and slunk back to his bunk.

Unfortunately, Huyang was probably right, because he fell asleep within minutes.

…

 It was Yoda’s habit to meditate with each Initiate after their experience through the caves. These Initiates were no different. The point of the Gathering was not the crystal, though that was the end goal. The point was to become closer with the Force and learn about one’s self.

Shama and Tru had done well. Yoda was satisfied in allowing their training to continue. They would make fine knights and masters one day.

It was the Clawdite girl who had surprised him. She had chased herself through the caverns for hours, focused on using her Jedi powers rather than her Changeling powers. Her frustration grew, distracting her. But it wasn’t until she shifted to a bird that she was able to gain ground on the vision. She realized then what she was meant to do, and she fell into her own powers. She listened to the Force, took the forms it whispered in her ear, and exploded through the caves, laughing as she flew and dove and ran and swam.

And soon she realized she wasn’t chasing anything anymore. She simply was. And she spent the rest of her hours frolicking in the Force until she remembered herself, scooped up the first crystal she saw, and hastened back to the main cavern.

“I want to go home,” she concluded. “Not forever. Maybe just… for a semester. I want to learn more about who I am before I focus on training with a master. Then I can come back and truly focus on being a Jedi.”

Yoda hesitated. “To your homeworld, this attachment-“

“Not attachment,” she interrupted quickly. “I don’t want to stay. I only want to learn. There are no other Clawdite Jedi to learn from. How can I help the galaxy if I’m fighting my own nature?”

When Yoda still hesitated, she shrank into herself a bit. “Shama got to go home,” she added in a quiet, irritated tone.

Yoda could not deny that, though he had no involvement with it. But he supposed the girl had a point. He could not fault a student for listening to the Force. “If return home you must, then go you shall,” he said.

Her eyes lit up. It was the first time, Yoda realized, that he had really seen the little Changeling smile. “Thank you,” she said, bowing deeply.

Yoda nodded back to her, then left her to her studies with Huyang.

He had been saving Obi-wan for last, because he didn’t want Obi-wan’s experience to distract him from the Initiates. But now he felt a swirl of dread in his belly. Shama had found the knight collapsed on the side of the lake, shoulder bleeding through his tunic, pale and shivering. His fist had been deadlocked around a crystal so hard that its sharp corner had cut him a little.

Now he was more tangle of blankets than man, asleep on a bunk that was just a bit too short for him. The only part of him that Yoda could actually see was one socked foot when he shifted and the blanket fell to the side. His breath crackled in the quiet.

Yoda waited a moment to see if the boy would notice him. When he did not, Yoda reached out in the Force.

Obi-wan’s presence was distant and shielded. Still tangible, but unknowable. He brushed against the walls of Obi-wan’s mind, gently, unobtrusive, then returned to his own crude form. 

Obi-wan shifted, made a groggy sort of noise, then coughed. Then he coughed again, pushing himself up to his elbows. He grimaced, rubbed his sleeve across his nose. A string of snot clung to the fabric. He grimaced, rubbed it again, and only then noticed Yoda with a panicked rush through the Force.

“Master,” he said, sitting up so quick that he hit his skull on the top of the bunk. He grimaced, ducked, then shifted to sit on the edge. He twisted his sleeve so Yoda wouldn’t see the wet spot.

“Good morning, young Obi-wan,” Yoda said, leaning heavily on his gimer stick. “Recovering well, are you?”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-wan said politely.

Yoda hummed at that- the sheen on Obi-wan’s skin and the dark circles under his eyes suggested that he was lying through his teeth. Not to mention, he’d watched Huyang kick Obi-wan from the hold. Privately, Yoda disagreed with that. Obi-wan needed a lightsaber sooner rather than later, but the Crucible was Huyang’s domain. Yoda could give the ancient droid an order, but it was a tossup whether Huyang would actually follow it. Apparently, his programming to obey the Jedi Council only applied to the Jedi Council that had commissioned him, and they had been long dead when Yoda himself was a padawan.

“Ready to speak of your visions, are you?” He asked when Obi-wan offered nothing but a pathetic sniffle and a shiver at the cool air.

The boy’s eyes flicked to the side even as he pulled his blanket around his shoulders. “I think I should meditate on them first.” He offered an apologetic grimace.

Yoda hummed, then settled on the bunk opposite to Obi-wan and crossed his legs. “Meditate together, we should. Clarity, the Force may offer.”

Obi-wan sniffled again, expressionless.

Yoda fixed him with a stern glare. “Affected you, the Gathering did,” he said. “Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Meditate, you must. Meditate with you, I will, just as when you were a youngling.”

Obi-wan hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, Master,” he said, then drew up his legs to cross them on the bunk, adjusting so the blanket fell fully over his feet and knees.

Yoda closed his eyes. When Obi-wan was a youngling, they’d had a strong bond. The boy struggled with his senses towards the future and the past. Yoda calmed him, showed him how to follow the threads of the Force, how to separate a bad feeling in the Force from his own anxiety. The pair could be found many a time meditating together in the Fountain Room, or ruminating on theories of the Unified Force in the Archives, or sharing a pot of tea in one of the many study rooms or lounges.

But as Obi-wan grew up, so too had the distance between them. Their bond was small now, a sense of each other rather than a tangible thing. Obi-wan felt older, harder, than he had as a child.

He felt the shift of energy in the room as Obi-wan settled into meditation. His breathing crackled through the silence between them. Then there was the cool sense as Obi-wan reached through their bond.

The Force stretched vast around them, a field of stars luminescent with the life of every being in the galaxy. Obi-wan was a nearby light, the glint of sunshine off deep waters. Yoda reached for it. He had no interest in that surface gleam. The importance was hidden beneath the waves.

But there was tension there too. The waves were choppy as Yoda pressed forward. That chilly wind blew through the forest of Yoda’s own mind, rustling the trees of his memories and spooking the skittering creatures of his fleeting thoughts.

He let that chill feeling move through him. He acknowledged the anxiety and then let it go, to be resorbed back into the Force.

Across the bunk, Obi-wan coughed, wet and choking. His focus shifted, drifted, and then reformed.

Yoda reached forward, gentle, careful not to cause any disturbance as he slipped through the waves of Obi-wan’s mind.

Beneath the water was lack of light. Not Darkness- it was simply the defense mechanism to keep his own thoughts to himself. When he had been a child, there was light here, clear waters, open and trusting. Now the currents took him, tugged him along. Yoda allowed himself to be led, letting the boy control their meditation.

He saw Ilum- the caves that he himself had visited before. A flicker of Qui-gon’s face, a flash of blonde hair hastily shoved away, and then, more certainly, the image of Qui-gon’s old apprentice. Xanatos Du Crion, tall and handsome and smiling with the smug certainty of his place in the universe.

The darkness flickered around him with Obi-wan’s own uncertainties, but other than a general sense, Yoda could not find the specifics.

Obi-wan’s breath caught in his clogged throat. He coughed, lost focus, struggled to breathe. His thoughts shifted- Xanatos vanished. He gasped a breath, coughed again – his thoughts shifted to a respirator- of a spirit in dark armor- forced oxygen echoing through the cavern-

-Yoda looked into the mirror-black eyes of a mask but only saw Obi-wan’s eyes reflected back at him-

And then the coughing fit became too great and the meditation abruptly ended.

Obi-wan folded into himself, struggling to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he managed to croak after another minute.

Yoda took a moment to inhale slowly, hold the breath, then exhale, anchoring himself in the moment. “People from your past, you have seen.”

Obi-wan nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Even through the thick fabric, Yoda could see him shivering. But he could sleep off his fever in a bit.

“And from your future?” Yoda asked.

Obi-wan hesitated, tensing. “I… do not know, Master.”

The statement hung in the air. Yoda waited for Obi-wan’s elaboration.

“That last spirit…” Obi-wan began. “He… touched me.”

Yoda tilted his head slightly.

“Xanatos wounded me,” Obi-wan said, voice low and rough. “But none of the wounds stuck. But the… I don’t know what to call him. You saw him. He…”

Instead of explaining, he shifted, letting the blanket fall from his shoulder, then rolled up his sleeve. Around his upper arm, from tricep to bicep, was a black and blue handprint, as though somebody had grabbed him and squeezed.

“He pulled me from the water,” Obi-wan said, shifting so Yoda could see the bruise. “I would have drowned, but he saved me.”

Yoda hummed, then slid off the bunk to get a closer look. Obi-wan slid down to the ground, eye level with Yoda, and offered out his arm. Yoda touched the bruise, but his own hand didn’t line up with the long finger-prints. Obi-wan shivered where the cool air touched his skin.

Obi-wan winced, half shrugging the blanket higher around his other shoulder. “A vision has never touched me before. Not in a way that stuck.”

Yoda hummed, then dropped his hand. Obi-wan tugged his sleeve down, then wrapped himself in to the blanket. “What does it mean?”

Yoda shook his head. “Seen this before, I have not. Meditate on it, I will.”

Obi-wan nodded, twisting the blanket around his hands. “Thank you, Master.”

Yoda inclined. “And now, sleep you must. Or my head, Master Che will have.”

Obi-wan grimaced and pushed himself back up on the bunk. “It’s barely a cold,” he grumbled.

This time, Yoda cracked his shin with the stick. Obi-wan yelped and jerked his leg away. “What was that for?”

“Sick, you are,” Yoda said, leaning on his cane again. “Lie to me, you should not.”

Obi-wan opened his mouth to lie again, then wrinkled his nose. His eyes flicked to the stick and back to Yoda’s face. Then he slumped, defeated. “Of course, Master. But I still hold that Master Che doesn’t need to be involved.”

Yoda hummed at that, then made his exit. Obi-wan made a worried noise at the idea of the chief healer, but Yoda wasn’t concerned about anything so petty as that. He was more concerned at Obi-wan’s vision. The boy was in tune with the Force, moreso than most young knights. And if the Force itself had been so strong and so dark as to leave a physical mark…

The future was darker than Yoda thought.

…

It had been exhaustion that helped Obi-wan fall asleep initially. Now he was still tired, but not drop-dead exhausted. He stared at the bottom of the upper bunk and cursed Yoda for waking him up. If he could just sleep all the way back to Coruscant and let his visions remain behind on Ilum, that would be great.

That was not what the Force had in mind for him.

He couldn’t breathe laying down. He sat up, coughed at the movement, choked on the phlegm, coughed more, clutched at his chest as his lungs themselves seemed to spasm.

“You’re fine,” he hissed at himself, and forced his breathing to slow. Short and shallow breaths- he could manage those. After a few moments, the pain abated.

He curled up in the corner of the bunk, upright, and closed his eyes.

Xanatos smiled, cold and cruel, in the dark behind his eyes. The taste of Satine’s blood was salty on his tongue.

He grit his teeth, then opened his eyes and glared at the opposite corner of the bunk. Sleep was elusive.

They were closer to the Core now, probably back in range of Republic satellites. He glanced around, spotted his bag on the floor some ways away. But he was somewhat comfortable, slumped against the wall of the bunk, so he just summoned the Force to his hand, gathered it around the bag, pulled it to him. It was not frivolous. He just didn’t want to set off another coughing fit.

His comlink was in the front pocket. He checked the signal- enough for speech, if not a hologram. That was fine- he looked like he belonged in a junk heap on the lower levels right now.

Don’t do it, Kenobi, he thought, even as he typed out the message.

It was something simple, innocuous, containing no clues to his whereabouts.

You up?

For a few minutes, there was silence. Then –

I have five minutes between meetings. Yes?

His heart jumped to his throat. He didn’t stop to think- he deserved a second, and he had just watched her die, and-

His thumb hit the call button even though his brain told him to stop.

She picked up, voice crackling with the distance. “Ben? What’s wrong?”

Obi-wan squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the comm to his chest like it was a direct link to her. “Nothing,” he murmured into it. “I just needed to hear your voice.”

Silence. For a minute, he thought the call had dropped, but then she staticked back to him. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, then remembered this was speech and not hologram. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“You sound like you’re crying.”

He snorted at that, then coughed again. “No- no. I picked up a bit of flu.”

“Ah.” Silence again, crackling with the space between them.

Obi-wan winced at the silence. “Um- I’m sorry,” he said. “About disappear-”

“Don’t apologize to me,” she snapped. He could hear the irritation even over the weak connection. He winced.

“Okay. Sorry- I mean- Kriff.” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I just… I had a vision- more of a dream. And you were in it, and I just needed… to hear… that you were okay.” He winced at how awkward he sounded.  

Silence. It stretched too long, and he contemplated just ending the call. Then she said, “You had a dream about me?”

“It wasn’t the future,” he said quickly. “It was… complicated. But nothing to worry about. It just shook me.”

“Ah. I… Did you sense…? I mean, was it a bad feeling?”

“No! I didn’t. It wasn’t the future, I swear to you.” He forced a laugh, though it sounded thick. “There is absolutely no way it could possibly be the future.”

“Alright. Alright.” He heard her take a deep breath over the connection. “But the Force showed me to you? Do you think that there was a reason for that?”

He raised an eyebrow, though he knew she couldn’t see it. “The reasoning of the Force is beyond my mortal knowledge, Satine.” Her name felt sweet on his tongue, and if he closed his eyes, he could imagine that she sat in the bunk across from him. “I am no master to know its ineffable secrets.”

“Are you quoting at me? I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

“A conversation is but a communion between two souls,” he said. He couldn’t remember who had said it, but he doubted Satine would ask for a direct citation.

The call crackled with another voice outside Obi-wan’s hearing. Satine was silent, then called, “Yes. I’ll be but another moment!” Then quieter, “Obi-wan, I have matters to attend-”

“Yes, of course.” He took a sharp breath that crunched through his lungs. “Thank you for picking up, Satine. I… hearing your voice did help.”

“I’m… glad, Ben. Of course. But you… this…”

“As a friend,” he added hastily, jerking up straighter. “Nothing more, I promise you. Go to your meeting. Your people need you.”

“I am.” Silence. Obi-wan held his breath.

“Go,” he urged her when she didn’t end the call. “I don’t want to keep you.”

“You’re not. I… I just missed your voice as well. Sometimes I wish…- A MINUTE, I told you! Continue without me if you must! Apologies, Ben- I… thank you for calling. I missed your stupid old Jedi quotes. I must go. Give Qui-gon my best wishes.”

“I will. Thank you for picking up.”

“Of course.” And then the comm clicked dead in his hands as she ended the call.

Obi-wan slumped back against the wall, comm still clenched in his hand. But he couldn’t stop the stupid little smile spreading across his face as he dropped his head against the wall. Satine was okay- she was alive and well and yelling at her councilors.

And she missed his voice too.

He bit his lip and closed his eyes and for a few minutes, allowed himself to fantasize about her. He was sick- he deserved a second to pretend like things were different. He could slip away from the Temple, renounce his ties to the Jedi, chase her down and kiss her until she laughed and smacked him away-

The crystal pulsed through the Force, glowing warm through his mind. He pulled it from his pocket, turning the shard over and over in his hands. The edges were sharp against his fingers, but not chaotic. He understood the pattern, the way it had broken free from the main part of the cave. Despite the broken edges, it glowed from within.

He slumped lower, using his bag as a pillow, closing his fingers around the crystal.

…

The practice room was wide and tall, with synth-sunlight spilling down from a vaulted ceiling. There were twelve in this class, run by one of the knights Obi-wan was friends with. Knight Shaak Ti- Anakin liked her. She was hard in the same way that Obi-wan was hard. She expected perfection. But she was patient too, more patient even than Obi-wan. If Obi-wan got frustrated, he usually called a break or switched topics. Knight Ti simply did not get frustrated.

There were twelve of them in the class, lined up in two rows of six. Anakin and Jakka took the back corner.

In all his other classes, the teachers made Anakin go in the front row. They focused on him, calling him out, which was almost worse. He knew he was stupid- it wasn’t like a secret. And now everybody else knew too.

But in the mechanics class, the teacher looked at his work and immediately switched him with another student who didn’t get how the simple droid’s motivator wired into the hard drive.

And in his lightsaber class, Ti set him through his katas on the first day. She watched with a critical eye as he danced through the moves Obi-wan had taught him. Then she nodded slightly. “Kenobi has worked hard with you. I recognize his forms.”

Anakin nodded, drawing himself up straight. “Yep! We go over it every day.”

She nodded, then gestured for Anakin to move to the back row. Jakka, already there, high fived him.

Anakin liked saber classes. He didn’t think he would like any actual school. But he liked the thrum of the practice saber in his hand. He liked flowing through the katas, letting the moves take him. He could feel the Force better when he moved through the lightsaber moves. It flowed through his blood, guided his hand. His head was actually quiet when Obi-wan or Knight Ti told him to repeat the katas over and over and over.

Of course, he’d only had, like, three lightsaber classes. They hadn’t even gotten to sparring yet. But still, he kind of really liked them.

But today, he couldn’t focus. Obi-wan was back- he could sense his master’s presence like crashing waves in the back of his head. True to his word, Obi-wan had not been gone long, but it was still too 'long for Anakin’s taste.

His foot slipped on a kata. He felt Ti’s attention shift to him and straightened his heel out. She watched him for a moment. He jabbed backwards, a beat out of the unison of the class. Jakka’s attention shifted to him as well, her eyes flicking his way. She stumbled over the upwards slash.

Ti held up a hand. The rest of the class stopped. “Padawan Skywalker. Is there something more interesting than Shii Cho?”

He stood at attention, though he let the tip of his saber drift to the floor. “Yeah. Obi-wan’s back.”

“Ah.” She crossed her arms. “And is Kenobi more important than your swordplay?”

It was a trick question, though there was nothing malicious about it. She was just trying to make him think- Anakin could appreciate that. Instead, he considered it. “I mean, I know the actual answer is that he’d tell me to focus on the class now. But my answer is that he’s my friend and I wanna go welcome him back.”

She raised a brow, glanced around at the rest of the class. “I suppose you may be excused early,” she said.

Anakin grinned.

Ti held up one finger. “If you return after the sixth bell for an extra hour of practice.”

Extra lightsaber practice? That wasn’t even a punishment. “Can it be with Obi-wan?”

She tilted her head, considered it. “He is welcome to join.”

Jakka turned sharply, her saber humming through the air. “Wait, I want extra practice with Knight Kenobi!”

Across the room, Mila raised her hand. Ti gestured at her to speak.

“Is this an open practice?” She deactivated her lightsaber and wrapped both hands around it. “I mean, I don’t have any other classes at that time, so…?”

Ti pursed her lips, then glanced back towards Anakin. “Are you certain that Kenobi will be interested in joining?”

Anakin nodded, grinning. Obi-wan loved sparring. He pretended to be all disciplined and focused on simple katas, but the truth was that he got bored with them before Anakin did. Sometimes they would only do twenty minutes of katas before Obi-wan would flick his blade against Anakin’s and goad him into a spar.

(And he didn’t really mind showing Obi-wan off. Obi-wan was Anakin’s master, not any of these other kids’).

“Alright.” Ti inclined her head. “Anakin, you are dismissed. Return tonight for your makeup time. Anybody else in attendance tonight will receive either three points of extra credit, or a free skip of a future class.”

Anakin grinned, remembered a quick bow, then ran to grab his bag from the pile of bags slumped in the corner of the practice room.

He ran all the way to the landing platform, nearly bowling over Master Koon and a little Togruta girl. “Sorry!” he called over his shoulder.

“Watch it!” The girl shouted after him, even as Master Koon chuckled in his deep way.

He reached the landing platform in time to see the Initiates disembarking, all chatting amidst themselves. Shama and Tru waved at Anakin. He waved back, but he wasn’t interested in them- he waited for Obi-wan.

He didn’t have to wait long outside the ramp. Yoda and Obi-wan appeared a few seconds later. Anakin almost wanted to run when he saw Yoda, but he didn’t. He held his shoulders high, turned his hip slightly so the training saber was in full view. He was a Jedi. He had just come from Jedi training. It didn’t matter what Yoda thought.

But there was no fight. Yoda only nodded at him, then chuckled at Obi-wan. “Waiting for you, your apprentice is.”

“He is a good apprentice,” Obi-wan said, and reached out to squeeze Anakin’s shoulder.

Anakin sucked in a breath, almost ducking away. “Are you sick?”

Obi-wan’s eyes narrowed. Yoda chuckled as he walked away.

“Barely a cold-” Obi-wan started, when his comm buzzed. He looked down at it, then muttered something dark under his breath. “Barely a cold!” he growled, whipping towards the Temple entrance. But the quick movement set him coughing, curling his body away from Anakin.

Anakin stood on his toes to see what had set his master off. A summons from the healer- Anakin’s own stomach dropped. “Um… how long is she gonna keep you?”

“I don’t kriffing know,” Obi-wan grunted. He hefted his bag higher on his shoulder and started walking. He was definitely sick- he was dragging his feet and his breathing was too loud.

“It’s just that…” Anakin started, then trailed off. He regretted volunteering Obi-wan for the makeup class tonight now. Even if Vokara let Obi-wan go early, he definitely wouldn’t be able to spar if he was coughing every two steps.

“Just what?” Obi-wan asked, raising an eyebrow.

They came to the lift. Anakin hit the button and wondered if he couldn’t just disappear. “I… kinda told Knight Ti that you wanted to come to my makeup practice tonight,” he said, and kicked at the ground.

Obi-wan drew in a breath. “Yes. Of course. I’ll go.”

Anakin winced. “Also, you might have a message from Knight Lee. Um- she doesn’t really… like me.”

Even though he was looking down at his own boots, he felt Obi-wan’s deadpan stare on him. “Do you need a lecture?”

Anakin shook his head.

“Did you lear-” He cut off, coughing twice. “-learn a lesson?”

Anakin nodded.

“Was it your fault?”

Anakin shrugged. “I mean, kinda? But she’s also mean-”

Obi-wan held up a hand to cut him off. “That’s okay. You’re not in trouble with me. Maybe with her, but not with me. We’ll talk later.”

Anakin nodded again, feeling a little better. As long as Obi-wan wasn’t mad at him, he was happy. He didn’t care what Lee thought of him.

The lift doors opened. Obi-wan stepped in, then held his foot in the door for Anakin to follow him.

The doors closed. There was silence between them, besides Obi-wan’s sniffling.

Then Obi-wan reached out and ruffled Anakin’s hair. “Did you get taller while I was gone?”

Anakin ducked. “I dunno. Maybe.” He glanced up at Obi-wan. “Scared I’ll get taller than you?”

Obi-wan scoffed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Padawan.”

Anakin elbowed him. “I’ll probably have a better beard than you too.”

Obi-wan rubbed a hand over his chin. The few days’ stubble there did not qualify as a beard, in Anakin’s opinion. “I wasn’t trying to- I was traveling!”

“Mmhmm,” Anakin said cheerfully, taking the win.

Obi-wan batted at his arm, then dropped his bag. “You can carry my things for that one.”

“I’ll probably catch your disease,” Anakin grumbled, but when the lift door opened and Obi-wan started walking, he huffed and picked up the bag. “Can I see your new lightsaber?” he asked, jogging to catch up with the second bag over his shoulder.

Obi-wan stopped short. Anakin almost ran into him.

“I haven’t made it yet,” he said, almost sheepishly. He hesitated, then fished through his pockets and held something out for Anakin to look at.

The shard of Ilum gleamed in his palm. Anakin blinked, forgetting the heaviness of the two bags. The crystal called to him, gleaming bright and strong. It Shined as bright as Obi-wan, radiating at the same intensity like a piece of his master’s soul made solid.

Anakin tentatively reached out, then drew his hand back.

“You can touch it.” Obi-wan smiled, palm open. “It’s a Force sensitive crystal. You can feel it?”

Anakin nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s so strong.” He touched it, then took it, turning it over in his own hands. “Wizard. There’s one of these in every lightsaber?”

Even in Anakin’s hands, it retained the sense of Obi-wan. He closed his eyes and focused his awareness on it, unable to stop the little smile. He’d never felt a Force-sensitive thing before. It was warm to his mind. “When do I get one?”

“When you’re a bit older,” Obi-wan said, offering a little smile.

“It feels alive,” Anakin said, and handed the crystal back to Obi-wan. “I didn’t realize that.” His brow furrowed as he considered his experience thus far. “The lightsabers in the gyms don’t feel that alive. A little, I guess, but not like that.”

“They’re old, and they’ve been used by many hands.” Obi-wan tucked the crystal back inside his robes and led them the rest of the way to the apartments. “What time did Shaak want us tonight?”

Anakin dropped the bag on the couch. “After the sixth bell.” He hesitated. “If you’re actually sick, you don’t have to. Sorry- I didn’t think you were gonna-”

“No. It’s alright.” Obi-wan waved a hand. “I’m your master. That’s my job.” He sank down to the couch and coughed into his elbow before focusing back on Anakin. “How were your classes? Other than your run-in with Asa?”

“They’re not bad, I guess.” Anakin said, shrugging. “I have mechanics next. It’s really easy.” He glanced at the chrono and made a face at the time. “I actually should go- I told Jakka I’d help her finish her motor before class started.”

Obi-wan tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “You’ve made a friend?”

Anakin nodded, grinning. “Yeah. She’s terrible at math and mechanics but I’m terrible at reading and history. So we were helping each other. And she showed me the secret lunchroom where there’s always cinna-twists leftover from breakfast. I like her.”

“Good.” Obi-wan reached out and clasped his shoulder, strong and solid. “I’m glad you’re making friends. Go, if you must. Come find me before your practice tonight. We can get dinner first and you can tell me everything I missed.”

“Okay!” Anakin darted forward to hug Obi-wan, heedless of any germs. It wasn’t as though he’d never had the flu before.

Obi-wan chuckled, but snaked both arms around Anakin, hugging him back harder than he normally did. “I missed you, Padawan,” he said softly in Anakin’s ear.

“Missed you too, Master,” Anakin said back. Obi-wan felt hot in his arms. A little too hot. “But maybe you should see the healers,” he added.

Obi-wan dropped his forehead to Anakin’s shoulder. “Not you too,” he moaned. “I’ll take a nap while you’re finishing up classes today.”

Anakin snorted, then pushed Obi-wan off him. “Okay,” he said, crossing his arms like Mom did. “But if it gets worse-”

Obi-wan cuffed him lightly over the head. “Go to class, young one.”

Anakin batted him back. “Yes, Master,” he said, and bowed deep and sarcastic before leaving. But there was a spring in his step as he headed back towards the academic centers of the Temple. Everything was better when Obi-wan was around.

…

Qui-gon had spent the morning in the Fountain Room, pruning one of the more neglected areas. It was light work- he didn’t try to bend down too much or push his healing today. It was mostly something to keep his mind busy. But by lunch time he headed back home, ready to do some light meditation or reading.

He didn’t realize Obi-wan was back until he walked in and found his former padawan flopped on the couch, buried in cloak and blanket. He froze in the doorway a moment, quiet, not wanting to wake the boy. Obi-wan didn’t normally nap during the day- if he was that exhausted, then he was either very upset or sick-

Obi-wan coughed lightly, curling into himself. Then he coughed harder, choking, jerking back to consciousness. He grabbed the top of the couch and pulled himself up, still curled with an arm around his chest. “Kriffing hells,” he muttered to himself when he settled, slumping.

Then he became aware of Qui-gon. Time slowed. Blue eyes flicked up to meet Qui-gon’s. They widened slightly, panicked, then flicked down to the old tea stain on the couch, then back up. “Hello, Master,” he said in a rough voice.

Qui-gon swallowed. He felt as though he were at the edge of a cliff. He hadn’t expected to see Obi-wan back, and the boy’s eyes were guarded as he studied Qui-gon.

He should not have to be so alert with his own master. He should be able to relax, to wave casually and return to his nap. And yet he straightened, tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and waited for Qui-gon to speak.

“Hello, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon said back, simply, and then moved past him to the kitchen. “The cold air seemed not to agree with you?”

There was a beat of hesitation, then, “No. Not particularly.”

Qui-gon could still feel Obi-wan’s eyes on him even as he filled the kettle with water. Silent, he heated the water, poured it, added the tea leaves. Obi-wan observed, still and tense. Qui-gon was careful with the milk and honey- he wanted to sweeten it, not dull the flavor. He had made tea for Obi-wan countless times. He knew what his padawan liked. But still, as he stirred in the honey now, he felt pressure on his shoulders.

His own cup was hasty and black and bitter. He carried them both over to the couch, sat at the end. Obi-wan drew his legs in so there’d be more room, then raised an eyebrow at the mug Qui-gon set on the table. It was easily within the boy’s reach.

“I have done some meditating while you were away,” Qui-gon started, looking down at the hot mug in his own hands. “It occurs to me that I need to speak with you.”

Obi-wan shrank back into the corner of the couch. “What is there to speak of?” he asked, accent crisp with discomfort.

Qui-gon shot him a glare. This was hard enough without Obi-wan getting snippy.

Though he supposed Obi-wan had earned the right to be a bit snippy.

“We have not discussed what happened in the Council Chambers before the Battle of Naboo,” Qui-gon said, lifting his gaze from the mug to Obi-wan’s eyes. “I have not apologized. Not truly.”

“You don’t need-”

“Yes, I do.” Qui-gon held up a hand. “Listen, or not. Accept it, or not. Forgive me… or not.” He drew in a breath. “But I owe you an apology, Obi-wan. I did choose Anakin over you in that moment. I broke the vow I took to see you to knighthood.”

Obi-wan shrank back further into the blankets. “It was necessary in the moment,” he muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”

Qui-gon clenched his teeth. Here was the precipice. He had apologized; Obi-wan had said it was okay, and now they could return to their normal patterns.

But this was not a simple case of a disagreement in how to handle a mission, or an accidental injury while sparring, or even an insult thrown too harshly in an argument. It was a betrayal. Qui-gon had vowed to train Obi-wan, to teach him and guide him, and he had tossed that aside for another student.

“I am worried about it,” Qui-gon said. He found that he could not look into his apprentice’s eyes as he said it, so he settled for looking into the steam curling off his tea. “When I taught Xanatos,” he said slowly, “I thought he was as a son to me. I treated him as such, and… well, you know how it ended.”

He exhaled, and it made the steam dance from his tea. “So when I trained you, I did try to keep you at an arm’s length. I thought it would be better for you. I did not know what to do with you, Obi-wan. You were everything he was not. Wise, where he was only clever. Kind, where he was cruel. And so if I grew attached to you, then what did that mean? I was attached to Xanatos as well.”

Obi-wan drew his legs in tighter, studying the tea stain on the couch. “We don’t need to do this now,” he whispered through his ragged throat.

“We do.” Qui-gon took a breath. “I denied you my affection because I worried it would destroy you as it destroyed Xanatos. I was wrong, utterly wrong. But the affection was- it is there, Obi-wan. Code or no, I am attached to you. You are like a son to me, whether or not the sentiment is returned.”

He saw Obi-wan grimace out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t look and instead kept going. “And like family can take each other for granted, I took you for granted before the Council that day. It was not a reflection on my sentiments towards you, nor your own strengths. It was only a reflection on a foolish Jedi and his own hubris.”

He took a sip of the tea, mostly just to soothe his own dry mouth. “So that is that,” he said weakly. “I apologize for hurting you. And I apologize for nearly dying afterwards so we could not have this conversation sooner.”

Obi-wan remained silent, except for the crackle of air in his lungs. He really needed Vokara to check on that, but Qui-gon didn’t dare suggest it right now. Not until he had been forgiven, at least.

“I was going to leave the Jedi,” Obi-wan whispered. “For Anakin. Because you told me to teach him.”

“I know, Padawan.” Qui-gon wrapped his hands tighter around the mug. He felt raw and vulnerable after his little speech. Obi-wan now had the power to strike him in the heart, and if he did, he would be fully within his rights.

“No, you don’t know.” Obi-wan coughed, then reached for the tea that Qui-gon had made him. He took a long sip, then curled his fingers around the mug, letting the blanket fall slightly. “I left for Cerasi. I would have left for Satine, if she would have had me. And I would leave for you.”

Qui-gon blinked.

“I think I would leave for Anakin as well,” Obi-wan said softly. He took another sip of tea. “I love the Jedi, Master. You know that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. But I would have given that up for you.”

Qui-gon bit his tongue and nodded. “I know it’s significant to you.”

“I thought you were going to die,” Obi-wan said. His eyes were too bright. “You were in a bacta tank, and the Council hated me for insisting on training Anakin, and everybody kept watching me to see when I would break. A padawan teaching a padawan.” He scoffed, threw a hand to the side. “It’s ridiculous.”

“I know you would not have broken,” Qui-gon said softly.

“But you weren’t there.” Obi-wan glared down into his tea, angry but too kind to truly give into it. “I vowed to train my own replacement, Master. But to think that is awful, because it’s Anakin. It’s not his fault.”

“No. And it’s not yours either.” Qui-gon looked up at the ceiling above them. “It was my fault, Obi-wan. I put you in an impossible situation. And you handled it with the grace of a master far beyond myself in skill. Were I in your place, I… well, I probably would have broken. Or at least thrown a tantrum.”

Obi-wan dropped his head to the back of the couch.

“Do you truly wish to train Anakin?” Qui-gon shifted to face him. “I have said it before, but I will say it again. I rescind my request. Somebody else, perhaps Master Koon-”

“No.” Obi-wan’s eyes fixed sharply on Qui-gon. “I wasn’t lying when I gave him my word. I will continue training him.”

Qui-gon inclined his head, deferring to Obi-wan’s decision. “As you wish. Anakin is blessed by the Force to have you fighting for him, Obi-wan. Just as I was for you accepting me as your master.”

Silence for a moment, then a snippy, “well, I didn’t have much of a choice.”

But there was a little smirk on the corner of Obi-wan’s mouth. Obi-wan was screwing with him now, ending the serious conversation. And perhaps that was okay. Perhaps, with the air cleared between them, they really could move on.

Qui-gon stood. “Good. Get some sleep then. You look terrible. Perhaps later, you could tell me how you managed to catch a plague on Ilum.”

Obi-wan made a face at him, then burrowed back into his blankets. Then, almost inaudibly, he added, “You’re the closest thing I have to a father, Qui-gon.”

Qui-gon froze at the words. They brought a warmth to his chest, softening something that he hadn’t felt since before Tahl’s death. He reached down to squeeze Obi-wan’s shoulder.

Then he headed to his own room so he wouldn’t disturb the boy’s sleep.

His boy’s sleep.

Chapter Text

Shaak took one look at Obi-wan, then pointed to the bleachers. “I’m not dealing with you,” she said, crossing her arms. “You look dead on your feet.”

“I’m fine,” Obi-wan insisted, voice thick with whatever his latest disease was. He rested both hands on Anakin’s shoulders. “I’m here for my padawan’s practice.”

Shaak raised an eyebrow at Anakin. Anakin ducked his head. “I told him he didn’t have to,” he said in a little voice.

Obi-wan lightly cuffed Anakin over the head, then pushed him towards Shaak. “And I told Anakin, and now I’m telling you: I’m fine.” He stepped back. “Whether or not I have a mild cold-”

Shaak snorted.

“-I’ve been on a ship sleeping for the past few days.” He pulled himself up straighter, glittering through the Force. “I need to move.”

Shaak raised an eyebrow, shrugging her defeat, then gestured for Anakin to go to his customary spot. Jakka had already arrived. Her lekku bounced as she hopped up from her meditative position to greet Anakin. Shaak moved closer to Obi-wan so the students wouldn’t hear. “Those two chatter through class,” she said. “But I would be dishonest if I said I disapproved. Your boy seems to be getting along as well as could be expected.”

Obi-wan’s focus fixed on her, tangible in its intensity. She shifted her shields, let the younger knight see that she had his best interests at heart. Though he was younger than her by a few years, he had been in the advanced saber courses, and they’d been classmates more often than not. Despite a professional, polite exterior, the younger knight was jumpy and distrustful. She’d heard rumors about some of the missions he’d been on- it didn’t surprise her. The trick with him was simply give him his moment to read the situation, let him decide whether or not to let his guard down.

He didn’t choose everybody. He was like a feral lothcat, picking and choosing people based on some arbitrary reasoning existing deep in his own psyche. It was a matter of personal pride to Shaak that Obi-wan chose to trust her. If Obi-wan of all people could trust her, then her future students could as well.

“He’s clearly your padawan,” Shaak added with a little chuckle. “He flows with the lightsaber well. Although I’ve noticed he has a habit of adding extra little flourishes here and there when he stops thinking and starts flowing.”

“I’ve noticed those.” Obi-wan dropped his cloak to the bleachers. There was still a borrowed saber on his hip, Shaak noticed, but she didn’t comment. “But he’s caught me by surprise more than once while we spar.” He tilted his head. “I know the proper thing would be to stop those, but they appear when he’s sparring as well. But I thought to…” Then he shook his head.

Shaak glanced towards him, sidelong. “You thought to what?”

He met her eyes, considering. It was another one of those moments where he was deciding whether or not to trust, Shaak thought. She smoothed out her Force signature, made herself open. She wanted to travel to the Outer Rim next year and help in the schools, teaching Basic and reading and self-defense. The students out there would be more distrustful than Obi-wan, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t using him as practice.

“Come, Obi-wan,” she said, offering a little smile. “How can I properly help him if I don’t know his master’s mind?”

His gaze flicked towards the ground and then back to her. She stamped down her little surge of victory so he wouldn’t sense it and spook away.

“The Sith have returned,” Obi-wan said, lowering his voice and glancing towards the door, like he was confessing a secret he didn’t want a master to hear. “And Anakin is strong. I sense… I feel as though…”

He glanced towards the door again, then back to Anakin. Oblivious to their conversation, Anakin and Jakka chattered about the new area of the Lake that they’d found. Mila trotted in, and they opened their conversation to her. It turned out she had been to that area before, and she knew where there was a good picnic and homework spot nearby.

“He has a destiny,” Obi-wan murmured to Shaak. “I don’t say that out of pride, and I don’t… necessarily believe Qui-gon’s theory about the Chosen One. But I do know that he will be in danger, and he will need to know how to fight.”

Shaak nodded, then waited patiently as Obi-wan turned away to cough.

He turned back towards her when he had caught his breath. “He doesn’t have our background. He relies on instinct more than innate knowledge. And his instincts are usually good.” Obi-wan smiled, and this time Shaak did sense his pride flaring through the Force.

Anakin sensed it too, glancing over. Obi-wan nodded at him. Anakin grinned, then went back to wasting time waiting for the class to start.

“My point is,” Obi-wan concluded, “if he adds an extra movement to a kata that could be useful in a true fight, I do not correct him. I would rather he be organically skillful and survive an attack by a Sith than have perfectly precise katas.”

Shaak turned, surprised at that. Obi-wan was better than her at fighting- in a formal duel, he beat her every time (though in a brawl, it was fifty-fifty which would win, because they both knew how to fight dirty). “Your katas are precise. I’ve trained with you.”

“Yes, and I know every movement without thought.” He nodded at Anakin, then unclipped his own lightsaber from his belt, though he didn’t ignite it. He just held it in his hand.

“There’s one here,” he said, slashing down and then to the side. Shaak knew the movement so well that she didn’t need to see an ignited blade to know which basic movement Obi-wan showed her. “When Anakin flows through it, he does this instead.” He repeated the movement, but this time there was a flick of a flourish between the downstroke and right slash. Shaak almost missed it.

Obi-wan repeated it, slowing it down so she could see the extra twirl.

“A Jedi won’t see the extra movement coming,” Obi-wan said. “And if a Sith has Jedi training, then neither will they.”

“But he won’t be fighting… a… Jedi.” Shaak trailed off as Obi-wan’s gaze hardened.

“Ah,” she said. “You have fought former Jedi before. Forgive me. I have not.”

He inclined his head, then clipped the saber back to his belt. “I have a feeling that practical swordplay is going to be more important than formal duels,” he said, and his voice rang with prophecy in the Force. It sent a shiver down Shaak’s spine.

She glanced back towards the students, considering them in a new light. There were four here now- Vim-qel had arrived as well- and they kept glancing towards Obi-wan. She heard whispers of Sith-slayer echoing between them. None of them considered that Obi-wan was only the first to face a Sith. Any one of them could be the next to come face to face with the Dark Side.

She swallowed, throat dry. Obi-wan had grown up with practical fighting- he had been in the field from the time he was thirteen. Most padawans learned their formal movements in the Temple, and didn’t get to use them in true field combat until later. The Council tended not to send thirteen year olds into active warzones.

Obi-wan was a special case.

And Obi-wan had survived the Sith unscathed when his master had been permanently injured.

Shaak licked her dry lips. She closed her eyes and reached into the Force, but it offered no wisdom to her except the gleam of Obi-wan’s words, still hanging on the air.

So she listened to them. She reached down and took her lightsaber from her belt, igniting it.

The hiss of the blade drew the attention of the students. And in the glow, she saw the little grin spread across Obi-wan’s face.

“A Sith Lord,” she called to the students, “will not show mercy because you have a cold.”

Obi-wan danced back a few paces, then ignited his own borrowed blade. It flickered with its age, but he ignored the instability and swept it back in a salute.

Shaak turned and saluted him back, then glanced towards her students. “Now watch. Take note. One of you time us for two minutes, and then we will break down what we have done.”

“Two minutes?” Mila echoed, her datapad lighting up.

Shaak nodded, then raised her saber in front of her face.

“Okay…” Mila said. “Go!”

Shaak attacked. Obi-wan blocked. Their blades sang against each other, and then he rolled his shoulders back and slashed again. She blocked, danced around, went for his head then his arm. He parried the headshot, ducked the arm, swung for her legs.

The two minutes ended without a single hit, but Obi-wan doubled over, catching his breath. Shaak let him suffer in peace and turned to the students. “Now, any questions?”

…

“I’m going to kill him,” Vokara snarled, leaning over the balcony to watch the training session below. “That’s full blown pneumonia-”

“Peace,” Yoda said, tilting his head as he watched as well. “Practice, they do. And a show for the Initiates, it is.”

Shaak and Obi-wan danced around each other, exchanging blows too quick for the eye to catch. It had probably started out as a formal training session, but now the Initiates had paired off, cheering for the sparring knights. Anakin and Jakka took Obi-wan’s side, while Vim-qel and Mila took Shaak’s, and the children were shouting good-willed insults at each other.

Each time Obi-wan stopped to cough, Shaak tapped his arm or his leg with her saber, counting it as a point to herself. Each time, her two fans cheered, while Obi-wan’s yelled at him to stop giving in to his weakness. But Obi-wan had racked up enough points for himself that Shaak’s freebies seemed not to make a difference. Both knights were covered in singe marks.

“I don’t care if it’s practice or a show,” Vokara snapped at the Grandmaster. “He does this- he pushes himself until he collapses. With everything else-”

“Too passionate, you are,” Yoda said.

Vokara’s lekku tensed painfully tight. “I’m the chief healer,” she growled. “I’ve finally got the master somewhat fixed- now the padawan insists on breaking himself!”

Almost to punctuate her point, Obi-wan threw himself into a back handspring away from Shaak’s blade, fumbled the landing, and dropped to a knee as he struggled for breath. Shaak tapped his shoulder, then offered a hand to help him up.

“Tire himself out, he will,” Yoda said. “Hard trials, he has endured.”

“Who are we watching?” Plo asked, appearing behind them. Despite being a huge Jedi, he moved near silently. “Ah, Kenobi and Ti?” He took a spot on Vokara’s other side. “Kenobi looks rough. What did you do to him on Ilum, Master?”

Yoda hummed. “At war with himself, he is. Nearly drowned, he did.”

“He nearly- why does nobody tell me these things!” Vokara threw her hands in the air, then looped around for the stairs, intent on stopping the fight. The Jedi were infuriating- even Plo’s chuckle at her ire only made her angrier. If the Jedi of the Temple had their way, every single one of them would work to an early grave.

Obi-wan was back on his feet when she stomped down the stairs and into the gym. He held his blade aloft, breathing too loud, and then lunged for Shaak.

But Shaak caught sight of Vokara and deactivated her lightsaber. She paid for it- Obi-wan struck her square across the midriff, hard enough to singe through her tunic.

“Sorry,” he said, then turned to see what she was looking at. His eyes went wide and he took a half step back. “Master Che.”

“I sent you three summons,” Vokara snapped at him. She gestured towards the initiates. “Is this the example you wish to set for your padawan?”

“I told him to go see you,” Anakin piped up, apparently the only clever one in the room.

Obi-wan shrank back, then glanced upwards. Though the balcony was invisible from the lower level, now that he widened his senses he was sure to know that there had been Council members watching.

Vokara didn’t wait for his excuses. She grabbed the sleeve of his tunic and dragged him away. He didn’t argue, but she could sense his embarrassment and annoyance clear in the Force. She stopped at the door of the gym and turned. “And you,” she said to Shaak, “Get those burns bound up before they get infected or scar.”

She let the door slam behind her, and only let go of Kenobi’s sleeve when she was sure he wouldn’t run off.

…

Obi-wan paced across the exam room- six steps one way, six steps the other. The IV in his arm itched, and though he knew the cocktail of antibiotics and antivirals were probably necessary, Obi-wan wanted to pull the tube out. He knew he should just sit, but he was too riled from being pulled in the middle of a fight. And, if he were being honest with himself, he was pissed about it too. He was fine. He wouldn’t have been sparring if he thought he were going to collapse.

There was a knock on the door, then it creaked open. Obi-wan turned, ready to snarl at Che.

But it was Quinlan who slipped through and shut it quickly behind him. “Damn,” Quinlan said. “You got busted.”

Obi-wan glowered at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I can’t come say hello to my sick friend?” Quinlan dropped his bag onto the exam table. “Here. A present.”

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow, then opened the bag. Quinlan had packed a plastoid container with a muja pastry and a thermos of tea. Obi-wan considered it, then decided he wouldn’t sulk at Quinlan. He took out the pastry instead and bit into it.

“Shaak told me what happened,” Quinlan said, sitting back on the healer’s stool and rolling several paces back. “Che’s really got it out for you.”

Obi-wan chewed the pastry, irritated by the fact that he could barely taste it. “Yeah. I think I hate her.”

“Careful, Obi.” Quinlan wagged a finger. “Hate leads to the Dark Side.”

“Already fought the Dark Side. Wasn’t impressed.” Obi-wan unscrewed the thermos and took a sip. It was just black, and the tab of the teabag was taped to the side so it wouldn’t fall in. But it was better than the metallic tasting sink water.

“How are you so badass?” Quinlan asked, leaning back against the wall. He shook his head. “Actually, anyways, I’m here for an ulterior motive.”

Obi-wan licked frosting off his fingers and raised an eyebrow.  

“Our boy Garen.” Quinlan steepled his fingers together under his chin. “He’s gotten his formal date for the Trials.”

Obi-wan blinked, then grinned. “Good! He deserves it. When?”

“Couple weeks out.” Quinlan raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, I think I’ll be on mission. There’s an uprising out in this Midrim system and I think I might actually be morally on the side of the rebels in this case, so I have to talk to Yoda before…” He shook himself. “But anyways, I figured since you’re grounded with Anakin, you could handle his party.”

Obi-wan’s grin fell away. “Must I?”

“It’s easy,” Quinlan said, waving a hand. “Just pick Garen’s favorite bar, make sure you have rides set up, or get your padawan to drive, whatever. Everyone will be smashed by the end anyways.”

“Easy,” Obi-wan muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t give me that,” Quinlan said. “I handle all the parties. You can handle Garen’s.”

“But you’re good at planning these things,” Obi-wan said. He knew he sounded whiny. He didn’t care. He liked tagging along, but planning always seemed impossible. Jedi were hard to corral into one spot, even for merriment.

Quinlan fixed him with a glower. Obi-wan sighed and gave in. “Fine. Garen’s easy anyways. Are he and Tiplar talking right now?”

“Um,” Quinlan said, raising a finger. “That is a good question. Are they still sleeping together?”

“Not since she got knighted,” Obi-wan said, and sipped the tea. The warmth felt good on his throat. “But that could change if he’s a knight too?”

“Luminara would know,” Quinlan said. “Worst comes to worst, invite her and hope she gets a last minute mission.”

“But if I invite Tiplar, do I invite Tiplee as well?” Obi-wan licked muja filling off his fingers. “Even if she and Reeft don’t get along?”

“Blast, Obi-wan, I don’t know.” Quinlan shrugged. “Just don’t invite either of them. Then you won’t lose Garen like we lost you.”

Obi-wan made a face and shoved the rest of the pastry into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to reply. He was saved by the door opening again. This time, it was Master Che. She nodded at Quinlan.

“’Scuze me, Master,” Quinlan said, hopping up and bowing. “Thanks, Obi-wan.”

Obi-wan made a face at him. “If I don’t see you before you leave, may the Force be with you.”

Quinlan saluted, then vanished without even trying to protect Obi-wan from Che’s wrath. Traitor. He even closed the door behind him.

Che turned to Obi-wan. He shrank back, watching her. He could bolt, but she would find him eventually. She always did. So, obediently, he sat on the edge of the exam table and wrapped his hands around the thermos of tea.

“Relax,” she said, sitting on the stool Quinlan had just vacated. “You look like you’re about to go to war.”

“Aren’t I?” he asked, already irritated. “There’s nothing you can do.” He gestured at the IV pole. “Even this is useless. It isn’t a virus or anything. It’s just…”

“Drowning.” Che steepled her fingers. “Yes, I am aware. Master Yoda told me.”

Obi-wan glowered at her. “It’ll go away on its own.”

“But it’ll help that you’re getting hydrated.” She nodded at the pole. “I confess, I did lie to you. There are no antibiotics there. I simply didn’t want you to pull the IV out.”

His bad mood deepened. He coughed, and considered ripping the IV out of his arm just to spite her.

“That tea will dehydrate you more,” Che said, her voice low and gentle.

He took another sip of it, this time giving in to his spite.

She didn’t push it, thankfully. Instead, she just sighed. “Obi-wan, you infuriate me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? My deepest apologies.”

“Do you understand,” she said slowly, “That I have your best interests at heart?”

“I understand that it’s your job to keep us alive,” he said instead, wrapping his hands tighter around the thermos. “And, with respect, Master, I am alive. So dragging me out of the middle of a spar-”

“Master Yoda has already reprimanded me,” she said tersely. “But I stand by my actions. You were choking, Obi-wan.”

Normally he didn’t care what people called him. Obi-wan, Ben, Kenobi, Master Jedi, Padawan… But Che’s familiar use of his first name actually grated. He shrugged and took another sip of the tea instead of responding.

“What did you see in the caves?”

He raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur. “Excuse me?”

“Something spooked you.” Che folded her hands in her lap. “Why else would you run to a spar instead of taking care of yourself?”

He blinked, trying to puzzle out the logic. “I like sparring,” he said slowly. “I’m sorry, but in the rest of the galaxy, physical activity is considered a good thing.”

“In the rest of the galaxy, when somebody is sick, they rest,” Che said. She leaned forward. “What is keeping you from resting?”

He stalled by taking another slow sip of tea, letting it warm him all the way down. He had no desire to start discussing his visions with Che. If he explained them, then he’d have to explain the backstory, and then she would want to know all about how that made him feel, and then they’d probably get Qui-gon involved like he was a troubled delinquent instead of a Jedi knight. And anyways, they were none of her business. He had no visions of Che herself, so he had nothing to tell her.

She studied him.

Obi-wan took another sip of tea, content on waiting the chief healer out. He could sit here all day.

Che sighed, sitting back again. She ran a helpless hand down her lekku. “I have known you since you were a child,” she said. “I have fixed your body time and time again, and I have a feeling that this will not be the last time you appear here. Why must I force you to rest?”

This time, there was no fire in her words. It was only a quiet question, and it tugged at Obi-wan’s good nature. He huffed and dropped his eyes.

Che tapped her fingers against her leg, then shook her head. “Fine. I can prescribe a sedative for you if you cannot sleep, but-”

“Xanatos.” The name rose unbidden to Obi-wan’s lips. He gripped the thermos tighter, then took a sip and forced his muscles to relax. “I saw him in the caves. I saw… quite a few things.” He let out a breath, willing his heartrate to slow. “I like sparring,” he repeated again. “It helps me to clear my head. I had no chance to work out while traveling, and I cannot think when I have that energy in me. So yes, perhaps I used Anakin and Shaak’s training to my advantage, but she is a good opponent.”

Che was quiet for a long moment. Obi-wan forced himself not to fidget, though he wanted to pull his cloak around his shoulders and tuck his hands into his sleeves against the cold of the exam room. Then she inclined her head. “I understand.”

Tentatively, he held out his arm, willing her to remove his IV. She stood and began to peel the tape from his arm. It tugged painfully at the hairs there. The end of her lekku brushed his fingers- he folded his hand into a fist as to not touch her.

“Do you see him often, in your visions?” Che asked as she worked.

Obi-wan shook his head. “Not for a long time. He’s dead and gone.”

“It must have been difficult,” she said softly. There was a tugging sense in his arm as she pulled the IV out, then caught the pinprick of blood with a cotton ball. “Witnessing his Fall at such a young age.”

Obi-wan bit the inside of his cheek, drawing his arm back. Her hands were too cold. She was too close, her presence too loud in the room. “With respect, Master,” he said, “I see what you are trying to do, but I would rather not relive it at the moment.”

He slid from the exam table and pulled his cloak back on, then picked up Quinlan’s bag to return next time he saw him.

“It is your choice,” she said, stepping back. “But if you choose to speak, then I am-”

“He is dead,” Obi-wan said firmly, and inclined his head. “Thank you for the… not drugs.” He gestured to the pole, then turned sharply for the door, leaving her behind.

…

As it turned out, Anakin was quite good at helping out in the kitchen. He was more than happy to stand and stir the simmering noodle soup for Qui-gon, detailing the fight between Shaak and Obi-wan. Occasionally, he would punctuate his story by demonstrating the move with the wooden spoon. Each time, broth splattered the wall.

Qui-gon added more salt to the pot before returning to the table, still listening. Anakin was quite taken with Obi-wan, though his hero-worship would probably become less obvious as he grew older.

“And then Master Che dragged him away,” Anakin finished, making a face. “Which was kinda his own fault, ‘cause she did tell him to come earlier.”

“I wondered where he was,” Qui-gon said. “He’s still at the Halls of Healing?”

“Yeah, probably.” Anakin took a spoonful of the broth and blew on it, then tested it. “Good,” he declared, and turned the heat down low and put the lid on the pot. His mother must have taught him to cook- Qui-gon hadn’t taught him to simmer things, and Obi-wan had very little interest in cooking.

He set the spoon next to the stove and slipped into the chair across from Qui-gon. “What happens on Ilum?” he asked. “I mean, I know you get a lightsaber crystal. But how do you actually?”

Qui-gon hesitated. “The truth is that everybody experiences it in a different way,” he said. “Ilum itself is merely a planet, but the Force is strong there. You will see in a few years when you travel there yourself.”

Anakin huffed, drawing one leg to his chest. “That’s basically what Obi-wan said too.”

Qui-gon chuckled. “Don’t look so irritated, young one. We are not hiding anything from you. It is something you will discover on your own.”

Anakin still looked dubious, but he accepted the answer. “How much does it hurt today?” He asked, changing subjects.

It took Qui-gon a second to realize the boy was asking about his wound, and then he was pleased to realize that for a few minutes, he had forgotten his hurts. Anakin’s bluntness was startlingly refreshing- Obi-wan had never been so bold. He was more likely to dance around a topic than to simply ask.

“Not at all,” he said, then stopped short and took a breath. “Not much,” he amended, more truthfully. “If I move too quickly, it pulls, but if I am just sitting here, I barely feel it.”

Anakin nodded, brows creasing as he filed away the information. He offered no condolences or sympathy. Qui-gon supposed on Tatooine, pain was commonplace. Then he straightened up, eyes flicking to the door.

Obi-wan walked in, looking battered and pale and irritated. He froze when he realized both Anakin and Qui-gon were watching him, then raised a hand in weak greeting.

“Che’s in a mood,” he said as he sidled past them to the stove. He picked up the lid, tilting his head at the soup, then turned away to cough.

Qui-gon winced. He knew about Vokara’s moods. And it was probably partly his fault- she had fixated on Obi-wan after their talk. Her desire to fix people was strong, and while Obi-wan didn’t need fixing, he was certainly at an uncertain point in his life. To be fair, giving in to Vokara would probably be good for Obi-wan. But telling him that would just make Obi-wan dig his heels in more, so Qui-gon didn’t comment.

“Did you get dinner before your ill-advised sparring?” Qui-gon asked instead.

Obi-wan’s eyes flicked to Anakin. “No. He didn’t wake me until it was time.”

“I wasn’t hungry yet,” Anakin said, shrugging. “And you looked like you needed sleep.”

“I’ll tell you when I need and don’t need sleep,” Obi-wan shot back mildly.

“Your snoring told me you needed it.”

“I don’t snore.”

“It was bad.”

“You’re bad.”

“No, you’re-”

Qui-gon held up his hands, though he had to admit the good-natured bickering warmed his heart. “You’re both terrible enough, I swear to you,” he said. “Obi-wan, sit down. We’re eating dinner.”

Obi-wan grabbed one of the napkins to wipe his nose as he sat heavily at the table. He was actually sick if he wasn’t putting up a fight to getting served. Qui-gon got up- he hadn’t been lying to Anakin. The pain was less today. He still moved too slow, too stiff for a Jedi. But he could still set three bowls of soup on the table.

Anakin sat on his knees, trying to look a little taller as he glanced towards Obi-wan. “So you gonna tell us about the caves?”

Obi-wan blew on a spoonful of soup, raising an eyebrow.

“Come on,” Anakin said, leaning on his elbows. “What’d you see? Anything cool?”

Obi-wan’s eyes flicked towards Qui-gon, and then he shook his head. “Nothing of note,” he said, and sipped the soup from his spoon.

Anakin stared at Obi-wan for another moment. Qui-gon could sense the force of the boy’s will even when not focused on himself. But if Obi-wan were not telling Anakin what he had seen, then there had to be a reason. He would press Obi-wan himself later. For now, he distracted Anakin. “What Obi-wan saw was between himself and the Force,” he said calmly. “Perhaps you could tell Obi-wan how your classes are going. It seems that you’ve had little time yet to catch up.”

“Please.” Obi-wan said, and the look he cast towards Qui-gon was grateful. “You told me earlier that you enjoyed your mechanics class. What project are you working on?”

“A mini droid,” Anakin said, glancing towards Qui-gon as well. “Kinda boring, but really easy. C’mon, Obi-wan. Mechanic stuff isn’t Jedi stuff. I wanna know about the Jedi stuff. Tell me about your visions. Please.”

Obi-wan took another mouthful of soup, savoring it, then sighed. His eyes flicked towards Qui-gon again, and then back to Anakin. “I suppose there is no harm in it.” He drummed his fingers against the table, considering.

Anakin, triumphant, sat back and took a neat little mouthful of soup. His eyes, bright as the desert sky, were fixed on his master.

Qui-gon tried to remember if Obi-wan had ever looked at him like that. He was startled by the bit of melancholy that thought dredged up. If Obi-wan ever had stared up at Qui-gon like he’d hung the stars themselves, Qui-gon had never turned around fast enough to catch it.

“There was a cavern,” Obi-wan said slowly, voice rough. “In it, there was a dark Jedi.”

Qui-gon’s stomach fell. So Obi-wan had seen Xanatos in the caves. But he did not speak that name to Anakin- instead, he spun his vision like a tale.

“He was searching for his crystal as well,” Obi-wan said, eyes flicking down towards the table. “He wandered the caves just as I did. And I assume that he sensed the same crystal.” He reached into his pocket and set the crystal on the table in front of him. It gleamed even in the brightness of the kitchen.

“A dark Jedi,” Anakin said. He glanced at Qui-gon, then back to Obi-wan. “Like, the Sith you killed?”

Obi-wan shook his head. “No. Another one. They are rare, but…” He smiled wryly. “Well, there is a reason I push you so hard, Padawan.”

And oh, if that didn’t hit Qui-gon in the gut. It was the same reason he himself had pushed Obi-wan so hard- the boy had to be safe, and safety meant being able to defend himself. The sentiment echoed down the lineage, for good or for ill.

Obi-wan’s eyes flicked to Qui-gon. He sensed Obi-wan’s flicker of confusion, then gave a short shake of his head. Obi-wan and Anakin were too young to understand. This world was brutal. Now that Qui-gon was incapacitated, viewing it from the outside, he could see that clearly. He could not defend the peace himself anymore- it was up to the next generation. That was the sacrifice of the Jedi.

“I’ll fight them,” Anakin said, and it sounded too much like a promise for Qui-gon’s taste.

Obi-wan smiled and shook his head. “Someday. Not today.”

Anakin nodded, determination clear in the Force.

Obi-wan coughed, took another bite of the soup, then continued. “We were in competition for the crystal,” he said. “I knew where it was. I’m not sure if he could sense it, or if he was following me. I waded into the lake and swam to the center.” He reached out, touched the crystal. “I could see it glowing, so I dove for it. But the Dark Jedi grabbed me. We fought. Well…” He chuckled wryly. “Grappled. There was perhaps a bit of biting and hair pulling.”

Anakin nodded sagely, no doubt familiar with that manner of fighting.

“He tried to drown me, but I reached the bottom,” Obi-wan said. “I got the crystal, but the lake was deep. I didn’t have time to swim up before I ran out of air.” He made a face. “I could have, but I wasn’t focused on my breathing before I dove. That was my mistake, and it should not have-”

“Obi-wan,” Qui-gon interrupted, before Obi-wan could go off on how unprofessional his near-drowning was.

Obi-wan shot a glare towards Qui-gon.

Anakin didn’t notice. “Then how are you still alive?” he asked. “I mean, I’m glad you’re alive, but, how?”

“That… I’m not entirely certain.” Obi-wan reached for the napkin at the center of the table and wiped at his already-red nose. “Someone saved me. A spirit, but not anybody I’ve seen before.”

Qui-gon frowned, a bad feeling plucking through the Force. “What sort of spirit?”

“Tall. Armored. Not Mandalorian, but…” He hesitated, brow furrowing as he retrieved the details from his memory. “He couldn’t breathe on his own. That was the most vivid part- the sound of a ventilator.”

Qui-gon schooled his expression, but the shock still rippled through his system.

“Not somebody I’ve crossed paths with before,” Obi-wan said. “Perhaps someone from the future. He didn’t feel dark. Not particularly light, but… I didn’t fear him.” He pursed his lips, then pulled his arm from his sleeve, tugging his tunic half off. “This was the strange part,” he said, pushing the chair back so he could turn his shoulder towards Qui-gon.

Wrapped around his arm in the vivid blotches of a healing bruise, was a handprint.

Someone had grabbed Obi-wan and physically hauled him up from the water, hard enough to leave a bruise.

Qui-gon sucked in a breath. “You said this… spirit left this mark?”

Obi-wan nodded, glancing down at it himself once more before starting to pull his tunic back down.

“Wait,” Anakin said, hopping up, eyes fixed on the bruise.

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow, but stilled.

Anakin stepped forward, head tilted as he considered the bruise. Trance-like, he reached a hand out, his own fingers so much smaller than the hand that had left the bruise. His own brow furrowed.

Obi-wan tilted his head, sliding to the edge of the chair.

The Force shifted in the room, tilting on end around the boys. Qui-gon’s mouth went dry- the world flickered- he saw Anakin and Obi-wan- he saw Ben and Vader-

Anakin pressed his hand against the bruise, spreading his fingers wide. Obi-wan reached out, fingers brushing Anakin’s face.

The Force sang around them, one fixed point in the maelstrom of the universe, and Qui-gon was the only one to see. Everyone else was blind- the boys themselves were blind to it, to the way everything hinged on this moment, on their contact-

-the world flickered, and Qui-gon saw- he saw the chaotic power of Anakin, an eternal sandstorm raging within a child. And the storm raged around the epicenter, an eye of calm and serenity marking to the beat of Obi-wan’s heart-

They were earth and water- sand and ocean. Both destructive, both constructive, bound to each other through time and space-

-Qui-gon couldn’t bear it. The stars burned around them, orbiting two young Jedi, and Qui-gon could look no longer as the Force screamed through his skull.

He reached out with the Force, wrenching Anakin away from Obi-wan. He stood, leaning hard against the table, panting.

Anakin, now several feet away, looked more shocked and startled than anything. He turned to Qui-gon, confused.

“Master?” Obi-wan asked.

Qui-gon shook his head. “Did neither of you see that?”

The boys glanced at each other, then back to Qui-gon. Obi-wan pulled his tunic back down, then rubbed his nose on the napkin again. “See what?” he asked.

Qui-gon sucked in a breath. He didn’t know whether to tell them or not. The Force was silent now, offering no council.

Obi-wan should have sensed it. He was more in tune with these things. Or Anakin- the boy had enough raw power that even without training, he should have noticed something off.

But both looked clueless.

Qui-gon sat heavily and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said.

He saw Anakin and Obi-wan exchange looks again, and ignored them.

…

Qui-gon barely slept that night. Vader sat at the foot of his bed, cross-legged, tinkering with his metal hand. His eyes gleamed yellow and bloodshot, but he refused to speak to Qui-gon. Qui-gon tried to banish him, to will the specter away, but he was not as used to visions as Obi-wan. He did not know how to banish the Sith-ghost.

“You saved Obi-wan,” he said finally, giving up on sleep and sitting up.

The ghost remained silent, lips clamped tight around a few pins from his hand as he worked at a loose piece deep in his wrist.

“You hate him, but you saved him.” Qui-gon tilted his head. “Or perhaps you still care for him.”

Vader plucked one of the pins from his mouth and inserted it into the wrist joint. He flexed his fingers, but the metal ground against itself and his index finger refused to bend.

“Why are you here?” Qui-gon asked.

Vader glanced at him, eyes burning yellow through the ghostly blue glow. He spat the pins into his flesh hand. “Obi-wan isn’t supposed to die right now,” he said.

Qui-gon suppressed a shiver. “Ah.”

Anakin held out his hand. Qui-gon obliged and took the pins, holding them up for the ghost to take when he was ready. The metal was biting cold against his skin. Vader went back to tinkering.

“What do you mean by right now?” Qui-gon finally asked. He didn’t believe people had a fated moment to die, but he also didn’t believe in the ghost of Anakin from future-not. And he hated the idea that Obi-wan could have died, killed by a vision of Xanatos. The idea made his blood cold.

Obi-wan, dead and gone at the bottom of some nameless lake on a cold planet.

He closed his eyes against the thought. The ghostly pins trembled with the shake in his hands.

“Death isn’t the end, you know,” Vader said to his metal hand as he tightened a spring. “Your mind is too narrow.”

“I still would rather not lose my apprentice,” Qui-gon said through his teeth.

Vader took a pin from Qui-gon, his fingers cold and only semi-solid. “Attachment, Jinn,” he said, and tsked his tongue. “The attachment of the Father to the Son.” Then he laughed like it was the funniest joke in the world.

In the living room, Obi-wan coughed, consciousness flaring in the Force. Vader’s laughter blended with Obi-wan’s choking and Qui-gon rolled over so hard that his nerves twanged through his damaged spine. The pain jerked him awake and he was lying in bed. There were no pins in his hand, nor was anybody sitting in his bed.

Obi-wan’s coughing in the living room continued. Qui-gon got up, muscles shaky and still singing with the aftershock of pain. He ignored it, summoning the Force to siphon the hurt as he pushed open his door.

Obi-wan coughed, doubled over on the couch, arms clutched around his chest. His hair, long enough to tangle now, was dark with sweat.

“Breathe, Padawan,” Qui-gon said, sitting beside him and touching his shoulder.

Obi-wan shot an annoyed look at him, pressing his arm to his lips. Then his breath snagged again and he dropped his head, trying to muffle the fit.

Qui-gon left him to fill the kettle with water. By the time he had finished making the mug of honeyed tea, Obi-wan had regained control, curled sideways and resting his head against the back of the couch.

Qui-gon pushed the mug into Obi-wan’s hands. He opened his eyes again, then took a grateful sip.

Qui-gon sat gingerly beside him, not wanting to encroach on Obi-wan’s space, but also not wanting to return to bed himself. “I had no idea Xanatos affected you so much,” he finally said, voice low as to not wake Anakin. Though, if he had slept through Obi-wan’s coughing, quiet talking probably wouldn’t have an affect. “I supposed I should have realized-“

“Please stop,” Obi-wan said, voice hoarse.

Qui-gon did, but he reached out to touch Obi-wan’s bent knee instead, hand on top of the blanket he’d wrapped himself in.

Obi-wan let out a slow, crunching breath, then took another sip of tea. He didn’t pull his leg back, so Qui-gon let his hand rest there.

“It wasn’t about him,” he finally said. “He was just there. He’s just… a ghost. Your ghost, not mine.”

Qui-gon rubbed his thumb in a slow circle, hoping it was soothing. An upset stranger was easy to comfort, but Obi-wan was something else entirely. There was too much history. It was too easy to take a misstep.

But the knight looked miserable in the shadows of the living room. He hadn’t even taken his own bed back, despite the mild fever gleaming in his eyes. He felt muddled in the Force, unmoored, lost in a sea of uncertainty.

“My ghost, yes,” Qui-gon agreed. “But one that you were still forced to confront.”

Obi-wan flicked a hand dismissively, then dropped his head to the back of the couch again and closed his eyes. Qui-gon knew he should let his old apprentice sleep. But Obi-wan was quiet now, and letting Qui-gon touch him, even if it was just a hand on a bent knee.

He remembered his vision, the way that shade had begged for attention, then steeled himself and moved closer. Tentatively, afraid he’d be pushed away, he moved his hand from Obi-wan’s knee to his fever-warm cheek.

Obi-wan’s eyes snapped open. Qui-gon felt the boy’s jaw tense under his hand.

“Tell me your visions, Padawan,” Qui-gon said. “Whether you are my padawan or a knight, I am here to help you find your place within the Force.”

Obi-wan silently studied him for another moment, then closed his eyes and pressed his face harder into Qui-gon’s hand. “I don’t want to,” he said, and it was a tiny admission, more a confession. “Let me focus on the here and now.”

Qui-gon shifted closer. “The here and now is only one aspect of the Force,” he said. “And you cannot return to it if you are fixated on the past and the future. Let me help you, Obi-wan.”

Obi-wan barked a laugh, then shook Qui-gon’s hand from his face and took a sip of tea. “The Sith must have hit you in the head as well as the spine,” he said, “if you’re not just telling me to snap back to the present.”

Qui-gon drew his hand back, but lightly smacked Obi-wan’s knee on the way. “I have not stayed still at the Temple this long since your Probation after Melida-Daan. It has given me some time to reconsider what I thought I knew of the Force.”

“Careful, Master,” Obi-wan said, then coughed once and sipped his tea. “Thinking is dangerous.”

Qui-gon smacked his knee again, opened his mouth for a comeback. But then he stopped himself- this was Obi-wan’s way. He deflected, made a joke, distracted people from the root of the issue.

Qui-gon would not be distracted. He ignored the jab, then rested his hand on Obi-wan’s knee again. “Tell me what you saw in the caves.”

Obi-wan’s eyes widened slightly, and then he curled away, tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders. But he could not hide- Qui-gon knew all his tricks. And he would not let Obi-wan rest until he had drawn out whatever poison was eating away at his thoughts.

“It doesn’t matter,” Obi-wan said after a second. “I found the crystal-“

“Padawan,” Qui-gon said, a stern bark of an order. It startled Obi-wan. Qui-gon felt the flinch under his hand. “What did you see?”

Obi-wan’s eyes flicked helplessly to the door, but there would be no escape for him. His jaw clenched as he tightened his grip on the mug. “Why?” He finally asked, voice turning sulky.

“Because Jedi don’t normally return from Ilum with a fever and pneumonia,” Qui-gon said bluntly. “I would be a pitiful master if I didn’t help you through this.”

Obi-wan glowered at him. Perhaps to somebody else it would have been intimidating, but not to Qui-gon.

“If you were not my padawan,” Qui-gon said when Obi-wan didn’t speak, “I would say that it seems as though you’ve come to a crisis point. There are many paths before you. Instead of letting go and letting the Force guide your steps, you’ve dug your heels in and have come to a standstill.”

Obi-wan’s glower deepened, but Qui-gon could sense the flicker of fear beneath the shields. It colored his own thoughts for a moment. He was digging deep into Obi-wan right now, in a way he hadn’t since his padawan was a child. And Obi-wan did not like it- his distaste was clear.

And yet, it had to be done, Qui-gon knew with sudden clarity. Obi-wan needed a clear mind and conscience to train Anakin. He needed clarity for himself.

“I’ll admit, that is partly my fault,” Qui-gon said. “And that is why I want to help you now. You’re my padawan, Obi-wan. I lo-“

And it was his turn to choke, the words catching in his throat. Those words- three words, simple and ubiquitous to every planet in the galaxy. But Qui-gon realized he had never said them, not once in his life, to anybody.

Obi-wan’s breath caught. He looked away, shivering with fever, shields tight around his head.

Qui-gon closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath. “I love you, Padawan,” he said, and it felt alien and wrong on his tongue, but right in his heart.

There were no quips this time, no sarcastic comments to lessen the gravity of the moment. Obi-wan didn’t look at him, still trembling. He drew in a sharp breath, then turned away.

“Padawan,” Qui-gon finally said, breaking the quiet. He reached out and touched Obi-wan’s leg again.

“Stop,” Obi-wan murmured, but his voice cracked with the word.

“No.” Qui-gon reached out again, touched Obi-wan’s hand, warm where it wrapped around the cup. “I should have said it before.”

Obi-wan shot a glare towards him, but his eyes were wet. Qui-gon let out a slow breath, moved his hand back to Obi-wan’s cheek. “It’s okay, Padawan,” he said softly. “You’re okay.”

One tear fell, and Obi-wan angrily scrubbed it away. Tea sloshed sticky-sweet onto the blanket with the force of the movement.

“Leave me alone,” Obi-wan said again, stubborn even now. But he ducked his face away, still hiding, and Qui-gon could feel the hot wet of tears where his hand rested on his boy’s face.

“It’s okay,” Qui-gon said again, helpless. It was so rare that Obi-wan let people see him cry. “You don’t have to fight me.”

Obi-wan’s hand came up, clasped around Qui-gon’s wrist. For a second, Qui-gon thought Obi-wan would throw him away, stalk out through the front door, close himself off forever.

Then his breath hitched and he let go of Qui-gon’s wrist and covered his face.

“I know,” Qui-gon said softly. He reached out, drew Obi-wan closer. Limp, shoulders shaking now, Obi-wan twisted around and dropped his head against Qui-gon’s shoulder.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Qui-gon said, rubbing his arm. “You need to rest, Padawan.”

He held the trembling knight, moving his hand in slow circles over Obi-wan’s shoulder. He had only expected a confession of his visions, not complete catharsis. But he supposed this was better, healthier even. Obi-wan had been wound tight as the springs in Anakin’s mechanics project. He needed a moment to break. He needed the release.

He sobbed, wet and messy and silent, fingers curling into Qui-gon’s loose sleep tunic.

“I know, Padawan,” Qui-gon murmured. “You’re doing well. I’m proud of you.”

After a few minutes, Obi-wan’s sobs slowed and his breathing evened out. He fell limp against Qui-gon for a moment, then pulled away and reached for the box of tissues to clean off his face.

Qui-gon gave him the moment to gather his dignity and took back the mug of tea, returning to the kitchen to warm it again. He topped it off with hot water and another spoonful of honey before returning to Obi-wan.

“Sor-“ Obi-wan started, but Qui-gon held up a hand for silence.

“Do not apologize, Padawan,” he said, sitting back down and handing over the mug. “Would you make Anakin apologize for needing a moment?”

The glare returned, but it was half-hearted and red-eyed right now. Then his gaze dropped, and, seemingly with great effort, he shook his head no.

“Exactly.” Qui-gon squeezed his leg again, then sat back against the couch. “Now are you ready to tell me your visions?”

Obi-wan took a sip of tea, glowering at Qui-gon over the mug. But he had exhausted himself. He lowered his eyes, and spoke, spilling everything he had seen.

And Qui-gon listened.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure we’re allowed to come out here?” Jakka asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever been out on my own before.”

“Really?” Anakin glanced back, though he could sense her closeness. She was practically on his tail. “I’ve been out twice on my own. And a couple times with Obi-wan.”

“Yeah, but you’re… you.” She reached out and grabbed the corner of his cloak. Her lekku brushed against him as she looked around, wide-eyed. “I mean, you’re sure we won’t get in trouble?”

“Nobody will even know,” Anakin said, hopping over a crack in the walkway. “It’s fine. You just don’t look like a target and nobody will try anything. It’s not even that dangerous here.”

She pressed against him as a few junkies eyeballed them. Anakin fought the urge to roll his eyes. In the Temple, Jakka was outspoken and brave. She wasn’t the perfect Jedi- she was kind of fidgety during meditation lessons, and she sucked at mechanics. But that was why Anakin liked her. She was kind of an outsider too.

So he thought she would be game for an adventure outside the Temple. He’d found something and he was itching to share it. But Qui-gon wasn’t interested in droid stuff, and Obi-wan would probably lecture him for venturing this far away from the Temple. Anakin was free to go, yes, but if he went too far it gave Obi-wan anxiety. So it was better Obi-wan just didn’t know.

But he wanted to share the treasure trove he’d found, and Jakka was the next best choice. He hadn’t counted on her getting so skittish and frightened outside the Temple walls.

“They’re looking at us,” she insisted, pressing close to Anakin as they cut through an alley. A feral tooka hissed at them and jumped behind a pile of trash bags. Jakka yelped and jumped back from it, then squeaked as she stepped square on a rotten dead rat.

“Anakin,” she whined, grabbing his cloak again.

Anakin heaved a sigh, then turned towards her. “Do you want to go back?”

She bit her lip, then shook her head. “No. I mean, we’ve gotten this far.”

“It’s fine,” Anakin reminded her. “I grew up on Tatooine. This is just a bigger version of Mos Espa.” He moved her hand away from his cloak, then kept walking. “We’re almost there.”

She nodded, then hurried to keep up.

They had to climb up a fire escape and cross over a roof. But this was lower level, so though there was enough room to stand, it was still dark and dreary down here. A few ugly scavenger birds fluttered away.

Anakin had to leap from the roof down to the walkway beyond- this part was a little tricky, because there were no rails and he didn’t know how far he would fall if he missed. So he took the jump first, the grating of the walk rattling under his feet. Then he turned and waited for Jakka.

A speeder blew past, the hot slipstream buffeting them. Automatically Anakin moved to push his hair from his eyes, but his hair was cut short now and he didn’t need to.

“Come on,” he called.

Jakka crouched frozen on the roof. “Anakin, that’s not a big landing spot.”

“So? I’ve seen you hit smaller targets in the gym.” Anakin crossed his arms and waited. “Come on.”

He could sense her trepidation in the Force. He tried to hide his own annoyance. She was cool in the Temple, but she was so soft out here.

“You have to catch me if I miss,” she said.

“You won’t miss,” he replied, impatient now. It wasn’t as though they had much time. If they were late for dinner, then Obi-wan would comm him and it would become a thing.

“Catch me,” she insisted.

Anakin sighed, regretting this, and held up his hands, gathering the Force. It came easy now, even easier since living at the Temple and actually practicing every day. It responded almost gleefully, like a warm glow about his fingers. He could feel it dance through his blood.

Jakka waited- Anakin knew she could sense him- and then she jumped.

Just as Anakin predicted, she landed just fine. Her eyes were screwed shut though. Anakin didn’t comment on it, but inwardly he rolled his eyes as he let the power dissipate from his hands. “It’s just around the next corner,” he said, leading her onwards.

“You kids got any spare change?” came a voice in rasping Huttese.

It took Anakin a second to spot the homeless Mirialan in the pile of coats. He came to a stop.

“Keep going,” Jakka hissed in his ear, but he ignored her.

“Here,” he said, the Huttese easier on his tongue than Basic. He dug through his cloak, then pulled a slightly squished protein bar from one of his inner pockets. “I don’t have any money, but you can have this.”

The man grunted, greenish nose wrinkling in distaste. But he still reached out with one skinny arm to swipe the protein bar from Anakin’s hand.

“Okay, come on,” Jakka insisted, already dancing away. “You shouldn’t talk to him. He’s probably a criminal. Or a druggie.”

Anakin shot a look towards her. “Everyone’s a criminal or a druggie,” he said. “I mean, not everybody gets a comfy Temple to live in. We’re here!” He darted forward to the anchored hover barge. It squatted in the center of the lane, looming over the walkways beneath. The air tasted of metal and fire from the six stories of junk.

Anakin jumped over the gap between the grated walkway and the trash barge, feet echoing on the metal. One of the droids sorting junk a few meters away glanced over, then groaned audibly through his glitching vocalizer.

Jakka’s eyes were huge. “Anakin… this is a dump.”

“Yeah.” Anakin grinned, then darted off. “Someone threw out a whole droid,” he said, hefting the spindly skeleton of a serving droid from the rich people homes. “Look, the chips are fried. Blaster shot.” He dragged the skeleton over and dropped it in a crumble of metal, then darted off again. “But if you find a working motherboard and enough batteries and circuits…” He wrenched a circuit board off another abandoned one.

Jakka still didn’t join him on the barge. “Anakin. It’s trash.”

He straddled an old gonk and half an R1 unit. “Yeah. But.” He hopped down, jumped over the skeleton of the droid, and landed back on the walkway beside her. “This stuff is already junked up. So you can learn how to mess with it by taking it apart. Then mechanics class will be easy for you. Plus, you don’t have to pay for any of it.”

“You don’t have to pay because it’s junk,” Jakka insisted, crossing her arms. “Can we go back? It stinks here.”

Anakin huffed at her. He’d been quite excited to find the treasure trove. Back home, it would have been scrapped immediately, sold for the parts and the metal. He wasn’t the only scavenger who’d been drawn to it. Across the barge, a couple of skinny scrappers dug through the heaps. This was good stuff.

“Sometimes it’ll stink when you’re on missions,” he grumbled.

“But I’m not on mission now,” she said, hugging herself. Her eyes flicked towards the scrappers across the way. She was irritated, but that only served to cover up the flickers of fear.

It was frustrating. He gave up and nodded, vowing to just come back himself later, or maybe find another place to explore. “This way,” he said, and coiled the Force around his muscles to spring back to the roof they’d jumped down from. His feet hit the metal shingles and he started walking, not waiting to see if Jakka was keeping up. Her immediate disgust stung a little.

Like, she showed him fun places around the Temple. He’d had to work to find something fun to share with her.

“Come on,” he called. “It’s this way back.”

From the platform, she looked up at him. “That’s a big jump,” she said.

“It wasn’t when you jumped down,” he said, suitably irritated now. “Just jump back up. Use the Force.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You use the Force for everything.”

“Yeah. It works for everything. Come on.”

“I’m trying.” She grit her teeth, discomfort and frustration flashing through her signature. “I can’t focus.”

“Wermo jedai,” Anakin muttered under his breath, then knelt on the edge of the roof. “Here. Focus on me.”

He reached out in the Force, focusing on her shine. “Reach for me,” he said, and physically reached out her hand as well. “I’ll help you.”

“You’re a pretty thing,” someone called from the alleyway.

Anakin and Jakka both turned sharply.

The man emerged, skinny under a thick yet threadbare coat. “You shouldn’t be out here, little Twi. Your mama is probably looking for you.”

Jakka’s trepidation, already bitter in the Force, flared into bright fear that pounded against Anakin’s shields. He could sense it too, the slimy sense of malice rolling from the man. “Jump!” he called to Jakka.

But she couldn’t focus beyond the fear.

The man glanced up at Anakin’s voice, raising an eyebrow. “A little bird too?” he smiled wildly. His teeth were sharpened to points like a Twi’lek from Tatooine. “Well, I am a rich man today.”

Jakka danced away, but her training seemed to have deserted her. The man grabbed her arm, and she squeaked and jerked away.

The man turned his head towards Anakin. “Come here, boy.”

Anakin stood up, narrowing his eyes. “Let her go, sleemo.”

“Now, now.” He tugged Jakka tight against his body. She squealed, tried to pull away, but her signature felt muted under her terror. She could not use the Force, not without focusing. “You might find it in your best interest to jump back over here, kiddo. Or your girlfriend will be lonely.”

His basic was rough, the harsher accent of the underworld. Anakin’s lips drew back from his teeth. A bad time was turning even worse, and Jakka’s fear was darkening his own thoughts. “Let. Her. Go.”

He couldn’t use the Force to grant power to his words like Obi-wan could, not yet at least, but the man did take a half step back. “Then why don’t you come down here and make me?”

“We’re Jedi,” Jakka squeaked, trying to wriggle away despite her trembling terror. “You can’t-”

“Jedi…” the man said, eyes widening.

Time slowed.

(Jedi were worth so much on the market.)

The man met Anakin’s eyes.

(Jedi children would fetch a fortune.)

The man leered, lips drawing back from his teeth.

(A girl Jedi and a boy Jedi, a matching set.)

Rage boiled in Anakin’s gut.

“Un creespa, kung!” Anakin leapt, lightsaber blazing- it was only a training saber but it sizzled where it hit the man’s arm. He yelped as his coat sleeve smoked; Jakka twisted away and took off running.

Anakin snarled a last, “Tooska chai mani,” then ran to keep up with Jakka.

…

Qui-gon had become a regular in this corner of the Fountain room. It had been neglected for some time, allowed to run nearly wild. He was enjoying the project, of pruning back extra branches and guiding the vines to their proper paths. Though indoors, the air was fresh with greenery. Sweat stuck his hair to his neck, he was satisfied with the exertion.

It was not the work he was used to. If he clipped a branch too short, nobody would die. If he pulled a flower instead of a weed, no planets would fall. But the lack of pressure was welcome. He found his mind wandering.

Tahl would have enjoyed this. And though the thought came with sadness, there was no sharp pang of grief. It was a duller bittersweet taste, and he allowed her face to visit his thoughts. He missed her smile, the way she always seemed to be fondly mocking him. She had never been scared of him- he was a big man, and he knew how to carry himself, but it had no effect on her.

He was startled from his thoughts by Obi-wan’s mental nudge through their training bond. He turned to find his old padawan standing on the path, cloak pulled tight around his body.

“You’re looking better today,” he said, brushing some of the dirt from his hands to his tunic. “Your color is returning. Did you get something to eat?”

“I had breakfast with Anakin.” Obi-wan waved off the question, then stepped off the path. “I have a question. About…” His lips drew back in a small, frustrated snarl, and he pulled a handful of lightsaber parts from his pockets.

The first thing Qui-gon felt was warm victory- Obi-wan was coming to him for advice in building his lightsaber. Obi-wan trusted him to ask his question. Obi-wan had forgiven Qui-gon’s transgression to the degree that he could turn to him for advice.

It had been a week since Obi-wan returned. He’d spent the first few days feverish and riled, too much energy making him pace across their quarters even as he doubled over coughing fluid from his lungs. It had been all Qui-gon could do to make Obi-wan rest and sleep off the fevers, but Obi-wan had always been miserable when he was sick. This was no different.

On the fourth night, his fever broke for the last time, leaving him soaked in sweat and trembling. Qui-gon and Anakin had shared a relieved look when Obi-wan attacked breakfast the next morning, though neither said anything aloud.

On the fifth day, Obi-wan had started sketching out designs for a lightsaber, though he had never been much of an artist. Anakin had draped over his shoulders, offering ideas that started as stylistic and became more and more outlandish.

“If you do a double hilt, you could make it into a gun too,” Anakin had said, one arm around Obi-wan’s neck as he grinned. “Look, you could loop the power like this-” He had stolen the stylus from Obi-wan’s hand and diagrammed a rough image.

Obi-wan had wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Anakin, that’s… it looks like a staple gun. That’s uncivilized.”

“Oh, because you’re so civilized, with your posh accent and fancy wine-”

“That bottle’s old! Qui-gon’s been using it as a flower pot-”

“But you still paid fifty credits for it and drank it.”

“Well, it was a hard mission, I thought I deserved-”

Qui-gon had tuned them out at that point, but he dared not stop the friendly bickering. This bond would be the difference between life and death when Anakin was older, and Qui-gon dared not interfere with the development.

But they did have to move out- the housing requisition was complete, and all that was left was for Obi-wan to box up his things.

Now, in as he stood in the gardens, he was clearly not packing. He was working on his lightsaber instead.

“What is your question?” Qui-gon asked, looking down at the components clinking in Obi-wan’s hands. “You seem to have all the pieces. You remember making your first one?”

“Yes, but…” Obi-wan dropped to the ground, then spread the pieces out on the grass in front of him. Qui-gon could already see the general shape of the saber- it would be a slim, graceful hilt, fit precisely to Obi-wan’s hand. He could not see the problem.

“It’s missing a part,” Obi-wan said, gesturing to the neat spread of pieces, all silver and black against the grass. “Can you see what?”

Qui-gon considered Obi-wan’s question, crouching lower to see the pieces (his middle twinged, and he took the move slowly). “You have all the parts to make a functional lightsaber,” he said slowly, not wanting Obi-wan to think he was pushing him away. “I am not seeing what your problem is.”

Obi-wan made a frustrated noise (he had probably been at this for a while, and was coming to Qui-gon as a last ditch effort). “It’s missing something. I feel it.”

Qui-gon sat back into his heels. “Alright. I believe you. Have you connected the pieces yet?”

Obi-wan nodded, eyes bright in the sun-lights of the Fountain Room. Qui-gon gestured to the disassembled hilt. “Alright. Let me see. If I am able to help you, I will.”

Obi-wan studied Qui-gon for a moment, signature bright through their bond. Then he nodded and crossed his legs in the grass, a student before his master. Qui-gon shifted, sitting as well (ignoring the jolt of pain shooting up one of his legs).

The Force warmed as Obi-wan gathered it to himself, letting it coil around his hands and heart. Qui-gon made himself small, not distracting, and set his hands on his knees as he watched.

Obi-wan settled deeper, closing his eyes. The Force seemed to glow around his hands, glittering through training bond like the stars of the cosmos. When he was focused, when the Force dipped to Obi-wan’s command like a noble lothwolf accepting a master, he held his palms over the lightsaber.

The pieces rose, the Force shining around them and through them, warming the metal with Obi-wan’s own power. His focus laser-sharp, Obi-wan brought them together, forming an elegant weapon that spoke more of a seasoned master than a still-green knight. The crystal echoed his power, sparking like a piece of Obi-wan made solid, and it fell into place with a satisfying click.

And then Obi-wan opened his eyes, and the hilt fell into his palm. The Force seemed to lick around him like friendly fire before dissipating back into the atmosphere of the Temple. He stood, then offered a hand to help Qui-gon up.

Qui-gon almost argued, but then swallowed his pride and took the offered hand and let Obi-wan pull him to his feet.

“Do you see?” Obi-wan asked, holding the weapon out. “It’s missing something.”

Qui-gon reached out, hesitating as he silently asked for permission. Wordless consent echoed through their bond, and he took the hilt.

It was a bit too slender for his taste, but his hands were bigger than Obi-wan’s. And it was long as well, balanced for two handed use or one handed, depending on Obi-wan’s mood in the moment. He ignited it, vertical between them. The blade was a bright blue, near identical to his first lightsaber if perhaps a shade darker. It hummed with a satisfyingly stable sense of power.

“I… do not see.” Qui-gon dipped the blade down. It hummed with the motion, and the air smelled of ozone as the molecules split before the new lightsaber. “It feels like a solid weapon, Padawan.”

Obi-wan pursed his lips. “I don’t know,” he finally said, shaking his head. “Perhaps I am overthinking.”

“No.” Qui-gon retracted the blade, then handed back the hilt. “This is your weapon, and your life. If you feel that something is missing, I believe you. Meditate on it. Perhaps the answer will come in time.”

Obi-wan twirled the hilt in his hand, then began to unscrew the butt. But before he could fully dismantle the lightsaber again, his comm went off. He clipped the lightsaber to his belt instead, then took out the comm. “Anakin?”

“Hey, Obi-wan.” Even through the comm, Anakin’s voice sounded sheepish. Obi-wan met Qui-gon’s eyes, one eyebrow raised.

“What did you do, Padawan?” Obi-wan asked, and Qui-gon almost laughed. He had heard the phrase, what did you do, master? so many times that it sometimes echoed in his dreams. It was pleasant to hear it directed at somebody else.

“Um,” Anakin said. “Are you free right now?”

“Ye-ess,” Obi-wan cast a worried look up towards Qui-gon, then half turned away. “Where are you?”

“Um… Jakka, can you check that sign there?”

Obi-wan waited through the muffled conversation on the other end of the comm, eyebrows rising higher and higher on his face.

“We’re near the big dome government building,” Anakin said. “But… lower. Near some place called Mul’lees.”

Qui-gon had heard of the bar- it was trashy, mainly place for students of the local universities. Not the worst place, but it was on a lower level than was safe for two children.

Obi-wan sucked in a breath. “Anakin,” he said slowly, accent sharpening with his rising stress. “Why did you leave the Temple without- nevermind, we will talk later. Stay. There. I’m coming.”

He turned, jaw tight, and had only taken one step away before Qui-gon reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Remember,” he said, “it was not so long ago that I was picking up you and your eccentric friend Quinlan from the lower levels.”

Obi-wan’s jaw clenched harder. Qui-gon was surprised his teeth didn’t crack. “You yelled at us for that.”

“You needed to be yelled at.”

Obi-wan met his eyes, challenge sparking through their bond. And then the lesson sank in. Obi-wan’s eyes softened, and he inclined his head before hurrying off.

Qui-gon watched, smiling to himself. Anakin was a free spirit. He would put Obi-wan through his paces before their partnership was finished.

…

“He’s pissed,” Anakin said, shooting a glare at Jakka. “I didn’t want to call him.”

She hugged her lekku, eyes big. “I don’t know where we are,” she said, pressing herself against the wall of the bar. “And you don’t either. We need to get back to the Temple.”

“We would have gotten back ourselves sooner or later,” Anakin said. “Besides, if you didn’t go running off-”

“He grabbed me!” she squeaked, eyes glittering in the low light. “What did you expect me to do?”

“Use the Force? Fight? Not just go getting us lost.” Anakin glared at the speeders racing overhead. There was barely any sun down here. He could smell stale smoke in the alley, though it was too early in the day for the junkies.

A tear fell down her cheek. She made a frustrated noise at him, then turned away and rubbed at her face.

Then he felt bad. He reached out to touch her arm. “Look, sorry, don’t cry.”

She shoved his hand away. “We’re not all street kids, Anakin,” she snapped, then sniffled. “Nobody ever grabbed me before. He felt so gross in the Force.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause he was gross.” Anakin kicked at the cement. His irritation and frustration drained away, replaced by a sick sense of guilt. He didn’t mean to make her cry. But stuff was dangerous and she didn’t realize and she had almost gotten hurt. She had almost gotten hurt because Anakin took her on an adventure.

This was his fault.

He slid down against the duracrete wall and wrapped his arms around his legs. After a second, she sat beside him, still sniffling and rubbing tears away.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. He did mean it, genuinely, but his voice was high and annoying. “Like, for real. I dunno. Bad people are normal back home. You just don’t let them get close.”

“Well, I’m not from Tatooine,” Jakka snapped at him. Then she mirrored his position, wrapping her arms around her legs too. She was quiet for a minute, then she elbowed him. “Thanks for saving me though.”

“Anytime,” Anakin said, elbowing her back.

She rubbed the end of her tunic over her face, then drew in a shuddery breath. “I’m scared,” she admitted.

Anakin’s brow furrowed. “Obi-wan’s only gonna be a few minutes. And he won’t be mad at you, just me. I dragged you out here.”

“No, I mean…” She dropped her head back against the wall, lekku tensed against her body. “I mean, that wasn’t even bad. Like, I coulda gotten away myself. I have a lightsaber. But my mind just went blank.” She swallowed, raising her eyes to the speeders flashing by. “How can I be a Jedi if I can’t think when I’m scared?”

“I dunno.” Anakin bit his lip, thinking. “It’s like, different for me. Like, it gets sharper when I’m scared.”

“But it’s always dangerous where you’re from,” she said. “You were a podracer.”

“Yeah, but that’s not scary.” Anakin swallowed and dropped his chin to his knees. He thought about the slavers, their poison-sweet smiles and sand-callused hands. They were scarier than some Coruscant scum. He glanced over at Jakka, then closed his eyes. She would be worth a fortune. She was so pretty and healthy, her lavender skin glowing with hydration, a little plump with the healthy Temple food. Anakin wouldn’t be sold for nearly as much as her- he was a skinny, scrappy thing, good only for labor.

“Podracing can only kill you,” Anakin said after another minute. “Dying isn’t scary.”

Her eyes widened. “Anakin!”

“It’s not,” he insisted. “If you die you get to see all your old family, and it’s like a giant party, and there’s always enough food and water.” He tilted his head. “It’s not too far away though. Sometimes ghosts will come back to help people. Or get revenge.” He offered her a grin, but she still looked horrified. “What?” he asked. “Don’t Jedi believe in, like, an afterlife or something?”

She shook her head. “No. There’s just the Force when you die.”

“So you just become like, nothing?” Anakin wrinkled his nose. “No way. I’m still gonna be me when I die.”

Her lips tightened, then she hugged her legs tighter. “Whatever. I’m still scared.” She bit her lip, an unintentional high pitched noise escaping her throat. “And what if all the masters think I’m not brave enough? ‘Cause I’m not. I’m not brave enough to be a Jedi.”

The tears started again, but this time they weren’t Anakin’s fault. He scooched closer so they were touching. She tensed, then relaxed against his side. “I think you’re brave,” he said. “You stood up to Knight Lee. And you’re super smart. I mean, not at mechanics, but at everything else. So I think you’ve got a good shot.”

She dropped her head down to his shoulder. “But you already have a master. You don’t need to worry about it.”

But he did have to worry about being good enough. He had to worry about making sure Obi-wan didn’t get in trouble for Anakin’s stupid brain, and he had to worry about passing all the Jedi tests so they wouldn’t kick him out. If he went home to Mom, she would be so disappointed with him. And he had to worry about Mom too, even though she had enough prize money to live pretty well for a while. And he worried about Kitster and Wald. They didn’t have prize money. He hadn’t even said goodbye to them.

Jakka only had to worry about finding a Jedi master.

But he didn’t say that, because he didn’t want to upset her again. He’d already done enough.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to answer because a Temple speeder pulled up. He knew it was Obi-wan before he got there- both because he sensed his master’s closeness, and because he recognized the skip in the engine as Obi-wan switched gears too slowly. He didn’t comment on that when Obi-wan parked on the edge of the platform though.

Obi-wan’s jaw was tight and he felt closed off in the Force. Anakin stood, then pulled Jakka up and opened the front passenger door for her. Then, silent, he slid into the back.

“Are you both okay?” Obi-wan asked, turning to meet first Anakin’s eyes, then Jakka’s.

They both nodded. “It was my fault,” Anakin quickly said. “I dragged her out here.”

Obi-wan’s gaze settled on Anakin’s for a moment. He still felt closed off in the Force. Then he twisted back to the front and pulled out into the traffic. The silence was heavy. The wind whipped through Anakin’s hair. It was too loud here to talk anyways.

They pulled into a higher lane, then a higher one, always heading back towards the Temple. As the traffic cleared out, Obi-wan picked up speed. Finally he said, “You can always call me if you need help.”

Anakin studied his hands in his lap, stomach in knots. He knew he wasn’t going to get punished. Obi-wan had promised that long before. But this tension was worse. He wished he could just expect a slap.

They arrived back at the Temple. Obi-wan parked, then stepped from the speeder and tucked his hands into his sleeves. Jakka bowed her head.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

She nodded without looking up.

Obi-wan bit his lip. His shields dropped a little and he turned towards Anakin. “You’re not in trouble,” he said.

“It feels like I’m in trouble,” Anakin muttered.

“You’re not,” Obi-wan insisted. He hesitated, exhaling with the effort, and his shields dropped further. He didn’t feel as pissed as Anakin had thought he was. “You worried me.”

He dropped to a knee in front of Anakin. “I thought you were in danger.”

Anakin grimaced. “We weren’t. We were just lost.”

Jakka nodded. She still looked terrified.

“You can always call me when you need help,” Obi-wan said again, still on one knee. “Both of you.” He turned towards Jakka and smiled. “It’s an honor to meet you, Initiate Balon. Anakin has spoken highly of you.” He stood and held out his hand.

Jakka glanced towards Anakin, then shook Obi-wan’s hand. “Thanks for coming to get us, Knight Kenobi. You can call me Jakka.”

“You can call me Obi-wan,” he replied. “You’re sure you’re both alright?”

Anakin nodded again. The knot in his belly was starting to loosen. He could breathe easier again.

“I should get back,” Jakka said, taking a step away.

Obi-wan inclined his head. She bolted, pausing at the hanger door. “See you in class tomorrow,” she called to Anakin.

Anakin waved at her, and she ran off for the initiate dorms.

Obi-wan started walking as well, back towards their apartment. Anakin hurried to keep up with his longer legs. “Sorry,” he offered. “But. You never said I couldn’t leave.”

“No, I did not.” Obi-wan hit the button for the lift, jaw tensing. “You are free to do what you will.” The doors opened; he stepped in and held them for Anakin. When they closed, he continued. “But I also worry for your safety. Coruscant is a different world from what you know.”

“Not really,” Anakin said. “It’s just bigger.”

Obi-wan looked at him for a long moment. His gaze felt heavy. Anakin held it for a moment, then dropped his eyes and fidgeted with the end of his sleeves.

“Your safety is my priority,” he said finally. “I think I would be genuinely sad if something happened to you. I will not forbid you from leaving the Temple, but please tell me when you do, and don’t be afraid to call me if you need help. You did the right thing in calling me today.”

“You’d be sad if I kicked it?” Anakin asked, raising an eyebrow. “Ew. Weak.”

Obi-wan batted him over the head. “Only for ten minutes. Not even ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Anakin said, rolling his eyes. “You’d probably cry.”

“I said I’d be a little sad, not that I would cry over you.” The lift doors opened and Obi-wan stepped through.

That was when Anakin caught a glimpse of the new lightsaber at Obi-wan’s hip. He grinned. “You finally made it?”

“Oh.” Obi-wan unclipped it, twirled it once. “Yes. No. It’s missing something, but I can’t determine what.”

Anakin held out his hand. Obi-wan passed over the lightsaber, and he ignited it.

Now this was a lightsaber. The power of the crystal hummed up his arm and through his heart. The faintest of vibration played through the metal, a satisfying hum of battery and focusers and the crystal itself. It was an elegant weapon. It screamed of Obi-wan.

“It feels good to me,” Anakin said, giving the blue blade a practice spin. “It feels awesome. Way better than the training lightsabers. What do you think is missing?”

“I don’t know.” Obi-wan held out his hand. Anakin deactivated the lightsaber and handed it back. Obi-wan glared down at it, brow furrowed. “I just know it’s missing something important. A vital piece.”

“Huh,” Anakin said. “Maybe you’ll figure it out later. Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

Obi-wan gazed at the hilt in his hand for another minute, eyes unfocused. Then he shook himself. “I could eat,” he said after a moment’s deliberation. “Was it cinna-twist day?”

“Muja muffins,” Anakin said, shaking his head.

Obi-wan smiled. “Even better. Come, Padawan.”

Chapter Text

“What’re you reading?”

Vader appeared a split second after his voice whispered in Qui-gon’s ear. His black cape swirled around him, and both hands were gloved, but he wore no helmet. Today, his eyes were clear and blue. In the peace of the private study room, the ghostly Sith Lord seemed wrong.

Qui-gon set his finger against the borrowed datapad to mark his spot. “Theories and Treatises on the Unified Force,” he said. “With a focus on the interactions between time and space.”

Vader sat at the chair across the study table and crossed one leg over the other. “Ah. Are you attempting to discover the nature of yours truly?”

Qui-gon raised an eyebrow. That was obvious enough, he thought, and Vader knew it. But the text was long and dry and putting Qui-gon to sleep.

Giving up and returning home was not an option right now. His apartment was a warzone. Obi-wan and Anakin had started packing Obi-wan’s things loosely into boxes to move to the new (smaller) quarters two floors down from Qui-gon. It had started as a chore. Both boys had quickly grown bored. Anakin started picking at Obi-wan, and Obi-wan picked back, until the two were bickering loudly and obnoxiously. Qui-gon was glad to see them getting along, but their raised voices grated. It seemed to magnify every flash of pain in his lower body.

It seemed as good a time as any to visit the archives and see if he could find any information about his ghostly visitor (lest he yell at his boys to shut up and ruin their fun). He had finally dismissed brain damage as the culprit- that usually came with dizziness or seizures or any other of a myriad of symptoms that he had already looked up on the holonet.

Now, other than the new-normal of the neuropathy in his legs and the occasional nausea in his new guts, he had none of the symptoms that suggested brain damage from his long stint in the Halls of Healing. That meant Vader was either an isolated hallucination, or a genuine vision from the Force.

And he seemed to know it, the smug bastard. He smiled over the table at Qui-gon. “Did you find out anything interesting?”

Qui-gon raised an eyebrow and turned his eyes back to the datapad. “All knowledge on the Force is interesting,” he said.

“Did you think about asking Obi-wan for his old school papers?” Vader leaned back in the chair, considering Qui-gon like he was a lothcat and Qui-gon a particularly juicy piece of prey. “The Unified Force is supposed to be his niche, after all.”

And then Obi-wan would want to know why Qui-gon was interested in this particularly aspect of the Force, and Qui-gon had long ago decided not to tell him about Vader. He was afraid of poisoning the bond that had already grown so strong between the boys. He thought of their bickering over the boxes of Obi-wan’s things, and shook his head. “No. I will do my own research, thank you.”

Vader shrugged, then shifted, switching which leg was crossed over the other. “Have you found anything interesting?”

“Not particularly.” Qui-gon sighed and swiped the document back to its cover page, then sat back in his seat. “It is difficult to concentrate,” he admitted. “I settle, and then as soon as I shift, it’s as though I’m being stabbed again.”

Vader’s face twisted into something that looked both amused and mocking. “Ah, how you suffer,” he said. “With all your arms and legs and working lungs.”

Qui-gon narrowed his eyes.

Vader’s eyes flickered.

“I trust Obi-wan’s judgement,” Qui-gon said. “If he saw fit to liberate you of your limbs, then you must have deserved it.”

“Obi-wan chops off everybody’s limbs!” Vader snapped, jumping to his feet. Yellow choked out the blue in his eyes. “If you hadn’t died so soon, he’d probably take your hand too!”

“Hands, plural,” Qui-gon said after a moment, letting Vader's mood shift wash over him without affecting him. He tilted his head. “You’re missing both hands. Did Obi-wan only take one?”

Vader sulked. He fell heavily back into the chair. “No,” he finally spat. “Only one.”

Qui-gon waited. He suspected that Vader had learned to sulk from the alternate version of Obi-wan, but nobody could master the sulk as Obi-wan could. Obi-wan could freeze somebody out indefinitely if he was feeling petulant enough. But Vader’s fall to the Dark Side meant he didn’t have the patience to sulk for long.

Sure enough, he slumped under Qui-gon’s continued stare. “Dooku,” he muttered, yellow gaze flicking to the side. “Back during the first battle of Geonosis.”

Qui-gon blinked. “That’s… impossible,” he said.

Vader perked up. “Yes, I know. Trust me, I learned from that fight. Next time, I killed him.” He leered. “He never stood a chance. Twice the pride, double the fall, old karking bastard.”

“No…” Qui-gon pulled a hand through his hair. “Anakin, that… you mean Yan Dooku?”

“I dunno his first name.” Vader waved a flippant hand. “Yeah, Count Dooku. I guess he was an old Jedi, but-”

“He was my master.” The words came out as a whisper, far from Qui-gon’s normally strong voice. He closed his eyes, time as a padawan vividly flashing back- a stern master with a rebellious padawan, constant missions and constant training, tiny moments of warmth interspersed between vast ages of cold.

Vader huffed, eyes wide. “Really.”

“Truly.” Qui-gon drew in a breath. “He took your hand because you turned to the Dark?”

“I hate to destroy your fond memories of the man,” Vader said, “but he belonged to the Sith when I knew him.”

“He left the Order some time back,” Qui-gon said. He picked up the datapad. The screen lit up, but it contained no answers in its lines of text. “I spoke with him a few times when I began training Obi-wan, but our contact never lasts. You are certain?”

“I think I know the bastard who chopped off my hand,” Vader said, rolling his eyes. “Wait- does Obi-wan know he was your master?” He grimaced. “He never told me these things. He never told me anything.”

“He…” Qui-gon hesitated. He assumed Obi-wan knew- Obi-wan had certainly known quite a bit about Qui-gon when he’d started training. His fighting style, his affinity for the Living Force, the types of missions he took… surely he knew Qui-gon’s own lineage?

“Snips would have had a field day with that,” Vader muttered under his breath. His eyes flickered again, then settled on blue. “She would have tried to make friends with him.”

Qui-gon’s fingers tightened on the datapad, but he forced himself to exhale. His master was probably on Serenno now, though Qui-gon had no way to know for certain. And he was certainly not a Sith Lord in this version of reality. Qui-gon would be able to sense his master falling to the Dark Side, were that truly the case. (He hoped.)

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to inhale, then exhale. It would do no good to panic over a possible future. Everybody had a dark potential within them, after all. He let his mind settle. The old training bond was long withered with neglect. Still, if he could quiet his thoughts enough, Qui-gon could sense the connection.

The bond with Dooku was faint, almost nonexistent behind the brightness and proximity of Anakin and Obi-wan.

Qui-gon took a breath, drawing the Living Force deep into his lungs, then exhaled the worry and panic at the reminder of his old mentor. He inhaled the cleansing energy of the Temple, and exhaled his own nerves and pain.

Pain.

It cut through him. His mind was quieter, and that only made the hurt louder. He felt the confusion of his damaged nerves like a red hot pike. The scars inside him tugged and pulled with every breath.

A hand touched his. The Force turned murky around him. “Use that,” Vader whispered. “Let it sharpen your focus.”

And then he drew his hand back, and the Force cleared, but the hurt deep inside his body remained. Qui-gon exhaled, grimacing, then accepted it.

He had felt pain before, though nothing so chronic. No wounds had left damage like this before. It lanced through his brain, and he welcomed it, letting it burn through his thoughts.

The Force enveloped him.

It focused like sunlight through a magnifying glass, like the alcohol burn on a wound, like the smooth slice of a lightsaber blade through flesh.

Qui-gon did not resist. His fingers clenched white-knuckled on the datapad, then relaxed. He dropped his hands to the table, palms open, inviting. He let the Force embrace him.

He hurt, and the hurt drove away all distraction.

He simply was.

And he saw- when he opened his eyes, he saw the glow of the Living Force gathered around his palms in an aura of green tinged with blue and yellow. Vader was a broken shadow in front of him, a murky amalgamation of broken hearts and shattered dreams.

And something more, deep inside. A darkness, a blankness, deep down, and Qui-gon leaned forward, drawn in by a gravity he had never felt before.

“Not yet,” Vader said, and the trance was broken. Qui-gon fell back, grunting as the focused pain dissipated into the more dilute hurts through his body.

“Not yet?” Qui-gon asked a moment later, when he had gathered himself. “What do you mean? You speak in riddles.”

“I learned that from Obi-wan, who learned that from you,” Vader said, a little too smugly for Qui-gon’s taste. He reached out and tapped the datapad. “You won’t need those old textbooks. Start simpler. The children’s section, maybe. There are many aspects to the Force, and your mind is too small.”

And then he vanished.

Qui-gon considered the spot where Vader had sat for a long while, then decided what he really needed was a nap.

…

Obi-wan lay on his bed, one knee drawn up as he scrolled through his datapad. Anakin had already packed his own things for moving from Qui-gon’s apartment, though it hadn’t been hard. He hadn’t brought more than one bag from Tatooine, and he hadn’t been on Coruscant long enough to really accumulate any clutter.

He was excited for his own room though- they had looked at the empty space assigned to them earlier that day. It wasn’t as big as Qui-gon’s place. Obi-wan had grumbled- the knight’s bedroom in the new place was smaller than the padawan’s bedroom in Qui-gon’s. The living room was half the size, and the kitchen was little more than a hot plate on a countertop. Obi-wan was majorly downgrading.

But when he prowled their new space, Anakin decided he liked it better. The entire apartment was just a titch bigger than his home on Tatooine, and that was only because it was two separate bedrooms rather than the one that Anakin and his mother had shared. The couch in the living area was still stained by whatever knight had lived there before, and the rug was ragged at one corner.

It was a good size for two people- he and Obi-wan would be on top of each other when they were both home, but they both had so many things going on outside of the apartment that it would be nice to be so close in the evening. It was cozy. It would be even cozier once they made the beds and moved Obi-wan’s stuff in.

But Obi-wan was dragging his feet packing. Anakin’s own bag sat by Qui-gon’s door. Obi-wan had filled one box with stuff, but he’d gotten distracted, and now he was scrolling through the news on the holonet. Every once and a while, he clicked on a recording and a glowing holographic reporter would appear. Usually he watched a minute or so, then flicked it away.

Anakin sat on the end of the bed with the remedial reader Obi-wan had printed out for him. It was a kid’s story, dumb, about a tooka escaping a garden and getting lost and having an adventure. But Obi-wan pointed out that it was the words that mattered, not the story, and told him if he didn’t like it then he was free to pick out something different.

Anakin hadn’t bothered- everything at his level of reading was childish. So he stuck with Taré the Tooka. She was a house-tooka on Naboo, and Anakin liked to imagine that the illustrated owner, a pretty brunette girl, was Padmé when she was younger. The text didn’t name her, only said that Taré loved her and wanted to get back home to her.

“You won’t believe your eyes,” a holographic reporter hovering above Obi-wan’s datapad said. “You’ve seen Soresu Saul and the Holocron Chronicles, but this isn’t any holo-flik. It’s a real life-”

“What the hell?” Obi-wan sat up so quickly that Anakin jumped.

“-And he’s a Jedi padawan of all things. Remember when you see this that this Kenobi is a college kid. I mean, I just dropped my daughter off at CU for the semester and I’m telling you, I’d shit myself if I saw her fight like this.”

“Hey,” the cohost said, tossing her hair, “I’ve met your daughter, and she’s pretty badass. Didn’t get it from you.”

The first host laughed, lekku flushing with the joke and shook his head. “Okay, okay, fair enough. Check out this footage, folks.”

The hologram flickered to be replaced by two-dimensional security footage. Somebody had edited together so it jumped from camera to camera, always keeping the fighters in sight. Anakin and Obi-wan watched- Anakin with fascination, and Obi-wan with rising horror.

“I heard it was online,” Anakin said, leaning against Obi-wan to get a better look. “But I didn’t see it. You’re wizard, Obi-wan. You’re gonna teach me to fight like that, right?”

Obi-wan made a high pitched noise in his throat, unable to wrench his eyes from the footage. “How many people have seen this?”

Anakin’s eyes flicked down to the corner of the screen, and he decided not to read the huge number of views out loud. It would probably make Obi-wan shit himself. And that was only this talk show clip. It didn’t count all the other copies floating around the ‘net.

“Why wasn’t it taken down?” Obi-wan glanced over at Anakin, eyes wide and absolutely freaked out. “Why do people have to see this?” He swiped the video away and threw the datapad down like it had bit him. “They know my name.”

“’Cause you’re a badass.” Anakin grinned and elbowed him. “C’mon. You’re famous.”

“I don’t want to be famous.” He growled wordlessly, lips drawn back from his teeth, then got up. “That’s enough holonet. You wanna go spar?”

Anakin grinned and nodded, abandoning his reading practice to hop up.

They changed into lighter clothes and raced to the gyms- it didn’t start as a race, but then Anakin sped up, then Obi-wan did, then Anakin ran ahead, then Obi-wan grabbed the back of his tunic and pulled him behind, and then they were racing through the halls.

Until Master Koon stepped around a corner, and Obi-wan slammed into him.

Anakin skidded to a stop even as Obi-wan yelped, hopping back from the Councilor. But Master Koon wasn’t mad- he was never really mad. He just chuckled and reached out to grab Obi-wan’s shoulder, steadying him. “Peace, you two,” he said. “What’s the rush?”

“Obi-wan’s mad that everyone saw him fight the Sith on the holonet,” Anakin said, grinning. “So he’s gonna beat me up to make himself feel better.”

Obi-wan’s jaw dropped. “I wasn’t going to-” He looked frantically towards Master Koon. “That’s not-”

“Hmm,” Master Koon said, crossing his arms. “I can see that you’re clearly suffering under Obi-wan’s tutelage,” he said, making a show of looking Anakin up and down. “Perhaps he needs to be put into his place. I see he has his new lightsaber.”

“He says it’s missing a piece, but it works just fine,” Anakin said.

Obi-wan shot a good-natured glower towards Anakin, then shook his head. “It’s just a feeling,” he explained, though Anakin had no idea what made him feel that way.

Master Koon tilted his head slightly. Though Anakin couldn’t see his face, he felt warm in the Force, amused by their antics. Anakin liked Master Koon, and he suspected that Master Koon liked him back. Master Koon definitely liked Obi-wan. He patted Obi-wan’s shoulder, then started walking in the direction of the gyms. “I haven’t had a good spar in a while,” he said. “I’ll take the winner.”

Anakin jogged to catch up with the tall Councilor. “You’re way cooler than the rest of the masters,” he said, falling into step. Obi-wan trailed a few paces behind them. He felt the prickle of Obi-wan’s wince through their bond, but ignored it. Obi-wan schooled his words. Anakin did not. They could take him as he was.

Koon chuckled and dropped a hand to Anakin’s shoulder. “Don’t let Mace hear you say that,” he said in his rumbly voice. “It will give him a complex. But thank you, Padawan Skywalker.”

Anakin liked how Padawan Skywalker sounded. It was so real and official. There was no question that the boy from Tatooine was a Jedi. He wished Mom could hear it.

They reached one of the sparring arenas. A few padawans sat on the bleachers, sweating from their last spar and going over a recording of somebody’s katas, critiquing the form. The padawan in question was flushed bright red, sputtering a little at every critique, but afterwards she grumbled she wrote down the tips on a piece of flimsi.

Master Koon walked over to them. “Are you all finished with this room, or should we wait?”

They glanced at each other, silently deciding who would speak for their group. “We’re done,” the flushed girl said after a moment. “I’m too sore to actually fix any of this today anyways.” She glared down at the flimsi in her hand.

So Master Koon took a seat on the lowest level, ready to watch Anakin and Obi-wan spar. His attention felt light and curious, tangible without applying pressure.

But Anakin felt the pressure. Even though he liked Master Koon, he was still a Councilor and Master. His opinion mattered.

So when Anakin squared off to Obi-wan, he did it with as much formality as he could muster. He saluted with his training saber.

Obi-wan smiled and thumbed down the power on his own lightsaber. He mimicked Anakin’s salute.

Anakin took the first attack, leaping forward and making himself small, going for Obi-wan’s middle. Obi-wan blocked it, turned on his heel, swung down for Anakin’s head. Anakin ducked, bent backwards- Obi-wan’s lightsaber skidded off his blade.

The other padawans watched now, amusing themselves with somebody else’s spar. Anakin felt their attention prickling on his neck.

They watched. The whole Temple watched.

He launched towards Obi-wan in a flurry of swings. He sensed his master- Obi-wan’s mind was shielded, but Anakin could read him better than when he'd started training. His muscles tensed, he leaned into one foot or the other, he twisted his hands on the grip of his lightsaber.

He kicked Obi-wan’s leg and twirled away from his swing.

Anakin knew Obi-wan took it easy on him. He dialed back to just the edge of Anakin’s ability, letting Anakin lead the dance. But he’d seen Obi-wan fight at full strength against other grownup Jedi. He didn’t want Obi-wan to pull his blows.

He sped up- slash swipe duck block swing slash jump! And he circled Obi-wan.

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow, blocking a wild hit, then sank his weight into his knees. Springier now, bouncing foot to foot, he matched Anakin. Step for step, swing for swing. Anakin jumped, throwing his bodyweight behind his lightsaber. Obi-wan threw his blade up in a block and they locked, blades sparking, blue eyes meeting blue.

“You’re doing well, Padawan,” Obi-wan said over the crossed blades.

Anakin grinned, then dropped and rolled under Obi-wan’s legs, coming up behind him. Obi-wan dropped his blade backwards over his head, caught the slash, spun into it and brought his blade to Anakin’s neck-

But he’d done that twirl before. Anakin was ready and bent backwards, dropped to one hand, and kicked out Obi-wan’s knee.

Obi-wan fell with a grunt, surpise flaring bright, and Anakin swung his blade to his master’s neck, pulling it just before he burnt Obi-wan.

Obi-wan tilted his head up and away from the blade. He looked so surprised at being beat that Anakin had to laugh at him, but he still reached out to help him up.

The surprise melted away. Obi-wan took Anakin’s hand and pulled himself up, then touched Anakin’s chin. “Good job, Padawan.”

His palm was sweaty, but Anakin still dropped the weight of his head into Obi-wan’s hand. “Thanks, Master.”

“But you played yourself.” Obi-wan said, dropping his hand. “Master Koon wanted to spar the winner.”

Anakin blinked. Somehow, during the fight, he had forgotten the other challenger in their match. Obi-wan dropped his hand. “Good luck, Anakin,” he said cheerfully, and walked back to the bleachers.

“Well, well,” Master Koon said, standing. “It’s my turn.”

“May the Force be with you,” Obi-wan said, with a fond look back towards Anakin. “He’s on his game today.”

Anakin stood in the center of the arena, training saber in his hand. He had only beat Obi-wan because he surprised him. There was no way he could beat Master Koon. He was too big, too old, too skilled. But Anakin could hopefully hold him for at least a minute.

One minute.

Master Koon stepped forward and ignited his blade. He bowed, deep and formal, but Anakin could sense his warmth and amusement. He thought this was fun. He had been expecting to fight Obi-wan. He had been expecting a workout.

Well, Anakin would give him a workout. Or he would try, at least.

He bowed back, then raised his blade, waiting for the master to make the first move.

And Koon did- he slashed forward, testing Anakin’s reflexes. Anakin caught the swipe. Their blades sparked.

He glanced past Koon, where Obi-wan watched from the stands. Obi-wan watched intently, mouth quirked in a little smile at the corners. His belief was warm in the back of Anakin’s skull.

Anakin dropped from the saber lock, darted around. He swung at Koon’s leg, leapt over Koon’s slash, then swung himself.

Koon caught his blade again. “Very good, Padawan,” he said in his deep voice. “Your master has taught you well.”

Anakin grinned, then dropped from the lock in a backwards role and popped up with a twirl and a slash. Koon caught it- Anakin’s blade glanced off and his hand vibrated with the force of it.

He danced off, but Koon followed with a flurry of moves of his own. Anakin grit his teeth, arms burning with each block. He tried to listen to the Force, but he was too focused on the glow of the lightsaber coming at him. It hummed through the air and he blocked it over and over and over again.

His arms burned. He weaved around, balancing on the balls of his feet like Obi-wan. Every blow seemed to drain his energy. He grit his teeth, trying to flow with the fight.

It was a dance. Koon struck, Anakin blocked. Anakin struck, Koon blocked. He was smaller and faster and he needed to use that. But he couldn’t focus past the blows, the burn in his arms, the overwhelming sense of the master.

Koon struck. Anakin blocked, then leaned into the hold. His muscles shook with the force of it. Sparks flew from the humming sabers.

He had to break the hold. His whole body burned. But if he didn’t roll fast enough, Koon would get him. But if he didn’t break this, Koon would still find a way to beat him.

He grit his teeth, then fell back. Koon’s saber whipped forward, but he dropped backwards into his roll. But he stumbled when he popped up, legs as sore as his arms. This time, when Koon struck, he couldn’t get his blade up fast enough.

He felt the heat of the master’s lightsaber against his neck, though Koon pulled back so it wouldn’t touch. He lost.

But when his eyes fell on the clock on the wall, he was pleased to see that it said a minute and three seconds.

“Good show, Padawan Skywalker,” Master Koon said, holding out a hand to shake. “Your training is coming along splendidly.”

Anakin grinned and shook his hand. “Thanks.”

“And good job, Kenobi.” Koon turned towards Obi-wan, who had walked back to the center of the arena. “The improvement from his first few lessons is most impressive. The two of you have a strong bond.”

Obi-wan ducked his head, but dropped a hand to Anakin’s shoulder. “He’s a quick learner.”

“A quick learner with a good teacher.” Koon nodded. “I foresee you being a strong team on missions and a boon to the galaxy.”

“Missions?” Anakin grinned. “I want to go on a mission.”

Koon chuckled. “Not just yet, young one. You’re still very small. In a few years, you will have your chance.” He hesitated. “But, while I have you here- Kenobi. I believe Master Yoda spoke with you about leading a class?”

Obi-wan blinked. “Yes. He mentioned it. I was not sure if it was official, or-”

“It is official.” Koon inclined his head. “Report to Master Drallig at your convenience, and he will give you more details on your assignment.”

Obi-wan inclined his head. “Thank you, Master.”

“This was a fun distraction,” Koon said, stepping back. “But I have business today. May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” Obi-wan said.

Master Koon made his exit, and they were alone in the arena.

Obi-wan turned to Anakin, grinning. “Again?”

Anakin raised his eyebrows and ignited his lightsaber.

…

Qui-gon followed the glow of Anakin and Obi-wan like a moth. Their signatures filled his brain, dampening some of the old sadness over his own master. Qui-gon was not a stupid man. He knew there was little chance of rekindling anything with Dooku, and besides, he didn’t think he wanted to.

Dooku had been a cold master. He was more concerned with pushing Qui-gon higher, faster, stronger. And Qui-gon knew that the training paid off. He would not have survived his encounter with the Sith if Dooku hadn’t been his master.

Still, a Sith? Dooku was chilly, but not evil. Maybe a touch of gray when he resigned from the Order, but nowhere close to Dark.

But it had been years since they had spoken, and their last conversation had been… less than stellar.

They sat across from each other in an upper level restaurant. The transparent walls provided a three-sixty degree view of Coruscant’s glorious sunset, pinks and reds and corals bleeding across the sky. It reflected off Qui-gon’s wine glass, warped in the curved crystal.

Dooku sat across from him, dressed in wine-dark velvet, his midnight cloak draped neatly over the back of his chair. Qui-gon felt out of place in his Jedi-browns. There were still scorch marks on his cloak from the last mission. He hadn’t noticed them until he sat amidst Coruscant’s wealthiest.

“How goes the boy’s training?” Dooku asked over his scallops. Caviar dotted the plate like a hundred little eyes watching and waiting for Qui-gon’s answer.

“It goes well,” Qui-gon said. “He is strong in the Force and he dedicates himself wholly to his training. He reminds me of you, in some ways.”

Dooku sniffed at that. “It gladdens me that a bit of intelligence remains in the Order then. I certainly saw none of that during my last visit with the Council.”

Qui-gon took a sip of his wine. As much as he butt heads with the Council, it irked to hear his old master so openly ridicule them. Qui-gon had not left the Jedi, and so he was allowed to mock the Council. Dooku had lost that right. “They speak from their own experience and their knowledge of the Force.”

“Come, my old apprentice,” Dooku said with a raised eyebrow. “Do not forget, I have seen you fight them. They lead with stubbornness and adherence to outdated beliefs, while you follow only your gut and your pride.”

“My gut has gotten me out of several unfortunate situations,” Qui-gon pointed out.

Dooku took a sip of wine. “And it was also what led you to taking on young Du Crion, was it not?”

Qui-gon hid his grimace behind another sip of wine. It was too dry for his taste. But Obi-wan, only fifteen and already considering himself to have a refined pallet from his more formal missions, would have loved it. Obi-wan would have asked what year and what planet it was from. He would have asked the waiter about the region of that planet, would have remembered it for later. And Qui-gon only wished he had bottom-shelf Corellian whiskey. Qui-gon suspected that Obi-wan liked being knowledgeable about something classy more than he liked the taste itself.

“Obi-wan and Xanatos are very different people,” Qui-gon said. “And I would be lying if I said I didn’t drag my feet in taking on Obi-wan. I rather think that he chose me.”

Dooku’s raised eyebrow seemed to slice right to the quick of Qui-gon’s being. “Last we spoke, you made it sound as though the boy had no choice. He was to go to the Agricorps, was he not?”

“It was the will of the Force that we be on the same ship,” Qui-gon pointed out. “I was too slow in claiming him, yes, but that was my fault and not his. We came together in the end.”

“Much like the tooka you rescued,” Dooku said with a small smile. He took a sip of his wine. “The little kit you found on Ryloth, do you remember?”

Qui-gon grit his teeth. He had bottle-fed that kit for three weeks before it died, too sickly and broken inside to survive. He had been fourteen at the time, old enough to hide his tears but young enough to let them fall in private. He had buried the kit in the Temple gardens. At least its body could feed into the Living Force even as its soul had already been taken.

Obi-wan was no sickly tooka kit. Obi-wan was strong inside. 

But Dooku sensed his defensiveness and took a sip of wine. “I care about you, my apprentice,” he said. “You are drawn to weakness. You wish to be a hero, to fix the aches and pains of the galaxy. And I have no doubt that you are a hero to this boy. But I hate to see you disappointed if he turns out to truly only have the heart of a farmer.”

Qui-gon drained his wine in one uncivilized gulp and vowed to stop at another bar on a lower level on the way back to the Temple. He needed a stronger drink. “I have taken missions amongst agricultural specialists,” he said, setting his glass down too hard on the table. “They are strong people themselves, knowledgeable about the Living Force even if they are not sensitive themselves. There is nothing wrong with that career.”

“Of course not,” Dooku said smoothly. “But it is still not the career of a knight.”

“Obi-wan will be a great knight, one day,” Qui-gon said. “I have faith in him. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to. I am still a master, after all.”

He stood, shrugged on his blaster-pocked cloak, and walked out before Dooku could get in the last word. He knew from experience that he could never win.

Qui-gon almost wished he hadn’t walked out that day. Had Dooku's signature been grayer than normal? Qui-gon hadn’t even stopped to check. He had been on the defensive from the start, like he was a misbehaving padawan instead of a master in his own right.

Anakin and Obi-wan were in the gyms. Qui-gon stepped in, lingering by the door and watching them spar. Their fight barely constituted as training- they were laughing, half sparring and half wrestling.

They were playing.

Obi-wan tried to flip Anakin to the ground, but Anakin wrapped a leg around Obi-wan’s waist and unbalanced him, then bit his arm. Obi-wan yelped, trying to shake the boy off, and dropped down on top of him, using his own weight against Anakin. Anakin ignited his lightsaber and Obi-wan was forced to hop up and back to block the blow.

Like tooka kits, Qui-gon thought, watching as they shifted into a spar, sabers humming. He had never played with Obi-wan like that. Obi-wan had been too nervous and formal when he was young enough to act like Anakin, and when he was older, he had been too focused on getting better to relax in the gyms.

Qui-gon itched to join in. They hadn’t noticed him yet. He could take Obi-wan by surprise, twist his arm around his back and laugh as he sputtered indignantly. But he shifted his weight and his nerves sang high and discordant. All he had to do was move too quickly right now, and he would end up on the ground.

He didn’t want to ruin their fun, so he leaned in the doorway and watched until they broke apart, both flushed and grinning. Obi-wan tousled Anakin’s hair, then glanced up. “Master,” he said, dipping his head.

He felt the flare of Obi-wan, warm in the back of his skull where Dooku had only been cold.

“I’m avoiding packing,” Obi-wan confessed. “I was thinking of taking Anakin to Dex’s tonight. Would you like to join?”

“Has he been to Dex’s yet?” Qui-gon asked, taking the invitation and stepping forward.

“Dex’s?” Anakin asked, looking between them. “No. Where’s that?”

Qui-gon smiled, the last of the residual chilliness of Dooku’s memory fading. “You will enjoy it, young one. Dex is an old friend who makes a stellar burger.”

…

Anakin loved Dex. From the moment that the giant besalisk threw all four arms around Anakin, to his gentle ribbing of Obi-wan, to his punching Qui-gon’s shoulder. “You’re back up and kicking!” Dex exclaimed, throwing his arms around Qui-gon a second later. “Lemme tell ya, I was worried. I saw that footage and I was saying- FLO, you remember me saying!- nobody can survive that!”

“Well, I survived.” Qui-gon smiled, a little sheepishly. “It was touch and go for a bit.”

“And Little Obi-wan is all grown up with a padawan now.” Dex ruffled Obi-wan’s hair. “You trying to grow this out like your master?”

Obi-wan shook off Dex’s hand, then shook his head so the short waves would fall back into place. “Maybe not that long,” Obi-wan said, wrinkling his nose.

That made Dex laugh as he led them to a booth. “What’re you looking for today? The usual? Cup of Jawa Juice?”

Obi-wan nodded, but Qui-gon waved a hand in the negative. “Water for me, thank you. And a choco-shake for Anakin.”

“You didn’t even have to ask.” Dex beamed at Anakin. “Poor kid will need it to deal with you two. Make yourselves at home.”

Anakin slid into the booth in the back, taking the window seat beside Obi-wan as Qui-gon sat across. There were initials carved into the wall under the window with a utility knife, the grooves worn smooth by years. Anakin ran his thumb over them, reciting the letters in his head. Graceful and flowing, Osk-wesk-Krill, Obi-wan Kenobi. Jagged and pointed, Grek-Mern, Garen Muln. Small and neat, Besh-Esk. Bant Eerin. And, in a large, sweeping show, a single Resh. Anakin pursed his lips. He hadn’t figured out Reeft’s last name yet, and this didn’t give him any clues.

The droid waitress appeared a moment later with their drinks. Iced water for Qui-gon, a shake for Anakin, and whatever jawa juice was for Obi-wan- Anakin tried to steal a sip and he got as far as smelling the alcohol before Obi-wan batted the side of his head and took the cup back.

Anakin took a sip of the shake. “That’s wizard,” he whispered in awe. He had milkshakes before- who hadn’t? Even a slave kid on Tatooine got lucky every once and a while. But this was something else. This was top tier. It was too thick even for the straw and he had to use the spoon. Even Obi-wan, who was usually healthy besides his few favorite types of pastries, reached over and dipped his finger in.

Anakin batted him away just like Obi-wan had done to him, and Qui-gon laughed like that was the most hilarious thing.

Dex reappeared from the kitchen with a pile of plates for another table. He said something and there was uproarious laughter. Then he moved to their booth and slid in beside Qui-gon. It squished Qui-gon against the window.

“I got your usuals cooking right now,” he said, resting his chin on his hands. “Now lemme hear about you, little Jedi. Where’d they dig you up?”

“I’m from Tatooine.” Anakin shifted so he was kneeling on the booth to get a bit more height.

“Oh?” Dex perked up. “I’ve been on a few runs out that way. Whereabouts?”

“Mos Espa,” Anakin said. He wrapped his hands around the frosty metal cup, suddenly nervous. He didn’t want to explain that he’d been a slave there. It would be awkward. People close to him had finally stopped giving him sympathetic looks, and he wanted to keep it that way.

But Dex didn’t ask about that. “Mos Espa,” he said, nodding. “Yep, I’ve been around those parts. Hutts are nasty folk, but I’ve never had a bad time at a pod race.”

Anakin grinned. “Have you ever been to the Boonta Eve?”

The waitress reappeared with three plates of food. Anakin could hear a clicking deep inside her arms when she set them down- she needed a tune-up. Probably a replacement of the motors in her elbows, but he didn’t say that aloud. He was quickly distracted by the giant burger and plate of fried tubers in front of him.

Obi-wan reached over and dipped one of his own fried tubers in Anakin’s shake. Anakin had to bat his hand away again. “Get your own.”

“Once, a few years back,” Dex said, leaning back and stealing a fry from Qui-gon’s plate. “Chaotic time. I was doing a spice run for a few-”

“Is this a story a nine-year-old should be hearing?” Qui-gon asked mildly, and took a sip of his water.

“It’s a story that I should be hearing, Master,” Obi-wan said, and dutifully put his hands over Anakin’s ears.

Dex roared in laughter. “Well, I’m sure you’ve been to the Boonta Eve, kid,” he said. “Sounds like you’ve got a story yourself.”

Anakin grinned. “Every year since I was little. Mom used to take me, but she hates the crashes. I race too! A bunch of smaller ones, but this year I won the Boonta!”

Dex blinked, then looked over at Qui-gon. Qui-gon nodded.

“I’ll be damned,” Dex said, crossing all four arms. “A human running a podrace.”

“A Jedi running a podrace,” Anakin corrected.

Dex grinned. “Well, right you are, kid. You’ve got the Jedi look in your eyes. A kinda shine that you all got.”

The bell over the door rang, and Dex glanced over. He clapped his hands and stood up. “Duty calls. You boys call me if you need anything. Elrico!” He strode towards the door, arms out. “You get out of here, you old bastard. You stink like death sticks!”

“I like him,” Anakin said, and bit into his burger. It was not as top tier as the shake- it was greasy and flavorful, but Anakin held that the best bantha-burgers came from this little street cart back home.

“Everybody likes Dex.” Qui-gon nibbled the end of a fry. “He’s a criminal and a scoundrel. I don’t want to find you here alone.”

“Technically you’re a criminal and a scoundrel,” Anakin pointed out, and licked grease off his fingers. “You’re a Republic guy but you bet on me.”

Obi-wan choked on his jawa juice. Anakin turned, grinning, and watched him struggle. He reached across the table and grabbed Qui-gon’s water.

Anakin took the opportunity to steal a sip of the alcoholic drink. It was terrible like all alcoholic drinks were, but he didn’t sputter. He felt very grownup when he set it down without coughing.

“Maybe you should not go around telling that story,” Obi-wan said, pulling his cup away from Anakin’s side. “Not that anybody would be surprised by Qui-gon’s methods, but…”

“He’s a scoundrel.” Anakin grinned over at the master to let him know he was joking around.

Qui-gon inclined his head. “I prefer to think of it as listening to the will of the Force, young one. And it brought you to us.”

“Happy to be here,” Anakin said cheerfully. He dipped one of his fries into the shake like he’d seen Obi-wan do. “Mom would like this place too,” he commented.

He meant it lightly. He knew she was okay, and this was just how things were now. But Obi-wan and Qui-gon shared a heavy look across the table. “I’m sure she would,” Obi-wan said softly, and rested one hand on Anakin’s shoulder. With his other hand, he took a large gulp of his drink.

To distract him, Anakin reached over and stole one of his fries, the big juicy looking one with the most spices speckled on it. It worked- Obi-wan elbowed him in the ribs, then stole a spoonful of his shake.

“Have fun for now,” Qui-gon said, folding his hands across the table. “You need to finish packing soon. I want to put my plant lights in your room.”

Obi-wan froze, then groaned. “You’re going to miss me,” he said. “You’ll be bored alone, Master.”

“There was a litter of tookas in the classifieds the other day,” Qui-gon mused, and dipped one of his own fries into Anakin’s shake as well. “If I get lonely, I’ll buy one and name it Ben.”

Chapter Text

To: cindrallig.temple.net

From: obiwkenobi.temple.net

Subject: Combat Lesson

Master Drallig,

Master Yoda and Master Koon have discussed the assignment of my leading a training lesson in lightsaber combat. What time would you like to discuss this assignment?

May the Force be with you,

Knight Kenobi

…

To: obiwkenobi.temple.net

From: cindralli.temple.net

Subject: re: Combat Lesson

Whenever                                                               

Sent from my CommLinkX

...

“For two hours, Master.” Obi-wan sprawled on Qui-gon’s bed like a desperate tooka. “I labored over my word choices for two hours and he sends back a one word response?”

“Welcome to life as an adult within the Order, Padawan,” Qui-gon said. He had been trying to do the physical therapy exercises Vokara had assigned, until Obi-wan came bursting into his private space and flopped on his bed.

He had expected a lot of things when Obi-wan was knighted. A quiet apartment, a little bit of separation loneliness, Obi-wan being gone on missions and maybe, hopefully, comming him for advice when they got difficult. He had not expected any of this- his own injuries or Anakin’s presence or Obi-wan’s being grounded at the Temple for months to help Anakin’s acclimation go smoothly.

And this sudden clinginess from Obi-wan was new. The boy had never so blatantly just lay on Qui-gon’s bed, claiming the space. He had always been subtle in his seeking of approval. But this was not approval seeking- this felt more like attention seeking.

Qui-gon had wanted to finish his exercises in peace. They hurt, small as the movements were, and he did want privacy for it. But he thought of Obi-wan breaking down and crying in his arms only a week and a half before, and sat on the edge of the bed instead.

“Am I allowed to send a one word response?” Obi-wan asked the ceiling.

“You are still a new knight,” Qui-gon pointed out, reaching back to pat his arm. “Save your flippancy for when you’re on the Council.”

Obi-wan scoffed and sat up, drawing one leg up to his chest. “I will never be on the Council after being your padawan,” he said. “They would never trust me.”

Qui-gon laughed and clapped Obi-wan’s arm. “Then I have taught you well. Have you packed your things yet?”

Obi-wan ducked his head, fringe falling into his eyes. “Mostly,” he said, which was a code word for, not yet.

Qui-gon gave him a shove. “I told you, I have plans for your room. You have hours until Anakin finishes his classes for the day. Go finish.”

With a grumble, Obi-wan did get up and head back for his own room. Qui-gon swallowed a sudden urge to call him back. A piece of him, that part that would always see Obi-wan as that nervous, brave little twelve year old taking on a ship of Hutts, didn’t want to push the young man away. He felt Obi-wan’s clinginess in his own chest.

But he had to shove the boy out of his nest. Obi-wan had chosen to take a padawan and step into the role of a master, and so he had to act like it.

It still stung. But it warmed him too, that Obi-wan was dragging his feet. Obi-wan didn’t want to leave him either.

He was ripped from his thoughts by the sound of a shattering mug and a disturbance in the Force that stole his breath away.

“Padawan?” he called, stepping to the living room.

Obi-wan ducked his head lower, pressing two fingers to his temple. When he looked up at Qui-gon, his pupils were blown wide. “Did you sense that?”

“I sensed you,” Qui-gon said softly, stepping forward. “A bad feeling?”

Obi-wan nodded sharply and closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. “Something big. Fear. Screams. Smoke.” He leaned back against the counter, rubbing his face. “It’s… it’s close.”

A second later, his comm pinged. A summons- Obi-wan shook his head, the Force still rippling through him, and checked the message. “Master Windu,” he said.

“Go,” Qui-gon told him.

Obi-wan slowed only enough to grab his cloak, and then he was gone. Qui-gon pulled the door closed behind his old padawan, then sank down on the couch.

Whatever happened, Obi-wan had been summoned for his first mission as a knight. Qui-gon, retired early by his injuries, might never even know what disaster Obi-wan had sensed. 

…

Obi-wan practically ran through the halls, cloak fluttering behind him. He had not been the only one to sense the disturbance- Bant almost collided with him at one of the corridors, her padawan beads clicking against each other. “Obi-wan,” she said, breathless.

“I felt it too.” He smoothed out his cloak and took a breath, heart beating slowly despite the adrenaline. “You were summoned as well?”

She dipped her head. “I’m meeting Master Kit there. And you?”

He smiled, despite himself. “Whatever this is, we will be on mission together.”

There were six Jedi in total at the landing pad, not counting Master Windu and Master Yoda. Luminara and Shaak had already arrived. Kit Fisto arrived a moment later, dark eyes concerned. The last to arrive, eyes wide, was Ells, a heavy first aid kit on his shoulders.

Ells no longer had a padawan braid- he was officially a healer now, after he had assisted in Qui-gon’s recovery. He had been recently knighted- his dark hair was still shorn short, though he had worn his padawan-cut longer than Obi-wan had.

Windu did a quick head count, eyes falling onto each of them. “This is a Disaster Recovery,” he said without preamble. “There was a fuel explosion in the Vanguard Shipyard in the Industrial District. It caused a chain reaction of explosions through three surrounding factories. Go.”

“To the Force, you must listen,” Yoda said. His attention was heavy in the air. “Where you can, help. May the Force be with you.”

The ship they would take was little more than a skyhopper- they would pop out of the atmosphere for a few minutes to quickly reach the opposite hemisphere and land only a few moments later. Luminara took helm, leaving everyone else to stand in the tiny hold.

Obi-wan hesitated at the ramp. Bant elbowed him. “Your first mission as a knight,” she murmured.

He followed her on board. “I need to comm Anakin.”

“You have a moment,” Fisto said, hitting the door-close button behind Obi-wan. He grabbed one of the handles hanging from the ceiling. “Unduli, what’s the ETA?”

 “Thirty minutes,” she said, pulling the yoke back and flipping switches as they rose from the ramp.

“In other words, hurry up and wait,” Shaak said. She sat atop a crate of emergency supplies, crossed her legs, and closed her eyes. Her signature smoothed over as she fell into meditation.

Ells sat on the floor beside her and opened his bag, checking his equipment. Then he began looking through the crates, taking tally of what supplies he had available. There was a slightly frantic motion to his checks that slowed as he fell into his routine.

Bant and Fisto mimicked Shaak Ti, both kneeling and falling into meditation together. Obi-wan was so close to them that a few of Fisto’s head-tresses brushed his leg. He took the quiet moment to sit in the copilot’s seat beside Luminara, though she didn’t require a copilot for a jump this short.

She glanced at him. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve done Disaster Recovery before,” Obi-wan said. “I am ready.”

“Good.” She turned her eyes forward, giving him a modicum of privacy as he pulled out his comm.

It took Anakin only a moment to answer. “Master?”

“Anakin.” Obi-wan glanced out at the clouds engulfing their tiny ship. “A mission came up. It is on planet, but I don’t know when I’ll be ba-”

“I wanted to go on mission with you!” Anakin’s voice cracked with indignation. “You mean you just left?”

Shaak opened one eye. Obi-wan released a breath. “Anakin, it was an emergency that came on quickly. Not to mention, you may be my padawan, but you are still too young for something as dangerous as this.”

“But I-”

“This is not podracing. Focus on your studies, my young apprentice. We will have missions in the future.”

“But I’m your padawan. You’re supposed to take me on these things.”

The entire ship was listening to their conversation. Obi-wan tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders and tried to think of how other masters soothed young apprentices, old enough to be chosen but too young to leave the Temple. He fixed his gaze on the clouds outside the viewport.

“Ani,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “You are my padawan, yes. But you need to focus on your classes right now- you are still younger than any padawan in the Temple, and you have much to learn. But you know I am… young, for a master. I need the experience as much as you need to focus on your classes. I must learn, so I that I may teach you.”

Silence over the line for a long moment, and then Anakin muttered, “Whatever.”

“Anakin,” Obi-wan said, the name itself dripping with exasperation.

“Obi-wan,” Anakin said back, mimicking Obi-wan’s tone. “It’s fine. Just don’t die, okay?”

Shaak leaned forward, apparently having given up on meditation. “Don’t worry, Anakin,” she said, loud enough for Obi-wan’s comm to pick up her voice. “We’ll keep an eye on your master.”

“Thanks, Knight Ti,” Anakin said. Obi-wan was a little offended that he apparently had more faith in his lightsaber instructor than in Obi-wan himself. But at least now, he didn’t sound like he was going to go off and sulk.

“I’ll talk to you later, Anakin,” Obi-wan said.

“Yeah. See you.” The comm clicked silent on Anakin’s side, and Obi-wan let out a slow breath. He should have found Anakin in person first, but there hadn’t been time.

Nobody commented on the conversation. Obi-wan didn’t know if that was good or bad, but he was relatively certain that Qui-gon would have handled the moment better than he had. But even despite that, it felt good to be on mission again, even if it was only on Coruscant. He hadn’t realized how he craved the action of fieldwork until he had been grounded.

When Obi-wan was finished, Fisto stood. “The situation is still hot,” he said. “The Council has sent me only a few guidelines. Do what we can for relief, whether that means search and rescue, offering medical assistance, or assisting emergency services already on the scene.” He looked between them all, and despite his blank black eyes, it was easy to feel his attention as he gazed at each of them individually. “Secondly, my padawan will be taking point.”

Bant’s shock flared through the Force. “Master?”

He turned towards her. “I would have told you in private had I known before this moment, Padawan. But I have faith in you.” He smiled brightly, and despite the urgency, the Force warmed. “Your compassion and caring instincts are a strength in a mission like this. We will follow you.”

“Of course we will,” Shaak said, still perched on one of the medical crates. “You have good instincts.”

Bant took a breath. She glanced towards Obi-wan.

He inclined his head. Bant was the youngest of his immediate friend group, but it was obvious to anybody that she was the most responsible. If she was successful here, a solo mission or two would follow. Soon after, she would be knighted.

First Obi-wan had slayed the Sith. Now Garen was preparing for the Trials, and Bant was being told to take charge of missions. Reeft would follow them soon enough. Obi-wan remembered when they were children, worrying about finding masters and fantasizing about being full Jedi Knights. They had grown since then.

Obi-wan dropped his shields enough that she could feel their friendship bond, letting her know his sincerity. “I will follow you,” he said.

He felt her gratitude, even as Luminara murmured her agreement from the pilot’s seat, eyes fixed on the clouds as she began their rocky descent. Even at this altitude, the atmosphere took on a blackened, smoky tinge. The smell of something burning tickled the back of Obi-wan’s throat.

Obi-wan was relatively sure that Ells did not know Bant, but he could certainly sense the camaraderie in the group. For both he and Obi-wan, this would be their first mission as independent knights. He stood against the medical crates, nerves and determination both tangible in his signature. “What’s your plan then, captain?” He asked her.

Bant took another deep breath, her skin flushed a deeper pink under the sudden pressure. “Alright,” she said. “There are six of us. We should break into three teams. Ells and Shaak assist the medical teams. The other four of us will focus on search and rescue.” She hesitated, then her voice strengthened. “But stay with your partner. It will be unstable, and we cannot afford to lose one of our own to an accident when civilians are relying on us.”

Her eyes flicked to Fisto, but he offered no opinion. She took that as assent. “I will work with Obi-wan,” she said, nodding at him. “And Master, you’ll go with Luminara.” She smiled, a little sheepishly. “I cannot truly make decisions on my own if I’m constantly looking to you for approval. I do not care if Obi-wan approves.”

Fisto laughed at that, clapping her shoulder. “I approve of everything you do, Padawan. But I understand.”

“Landing in five minutes,” Luminara said.

Obi-wan breathed in the Force. It was saturated in fear, billowing up like the smoke from the blown factories. Nobody could see from the windows anymore- Luminara had closed her eyes and was landing by listening to the Force, disturbed as it was. And yet, this was where Obi-wan felt most at home. Disaster, trauma, terror- this was his forte. He was ready.

He had not realized how he resented being grounded at the Temple until Luminara opened the doors and smoke billowed into the cabin. He stood, ready to move, and looked to Bant.

She nodded to them all. “May the Force be with you,” she said, and jumped into the smoke.

Obi-wan followed her.

(And only the tiniest piece of him felt the absence of Qui-gon’s steady presence. He was a knight now. He would not be working with his master anymore.)

…

Anakin was, to put it lightly, pissed. He wrinkled his nose and sat down heavily on the grass, trying to consider whether he felt madder that Obi-wan had lied to him, or more betrayed. He decided on mad.

Jakka had been practicing her meditations, but Obi-wan’s comm call had distracted her. She’d listened to the whole conversation.

“Someone else coulda gone,” Anakin snapped, throwing the comm down in front of him. “He said he wasn’t taking any missions for a while. He said!”

“But he still has to do what the Council says,” Jakka said. “And it’s not even really a mission. It’s just a relief thing on-planet.” She sat down in front of him. “Why are you so mad anyways? I mean, you’re not even really a Padawan yet. Technically, yeah, but you’re basically still an initiate.”

“Because he said,” Anakin snapped. He huffed, then got up. “It’s fine.”

“But people are in danger and he’s available.” Jakka hopped up and cartwheeled into an easy handstand. “He’s your master,” she said, upside-down. “But he pledged himself to the galaxy. We all pledge ourselves to the galaxy.” She flipped backwards, throwing her hands up as she landed on her feet. “That’s the point of being a Jedi.”

Anakin grunted. He didn’t pledge himself to Coruscant. He was in it for his people. For his mom. And now Obi-wan was putting himself in danger for what? For some strangers.

He didn’t like it. He should have been at Obi-wan’s side, at least. Anakin knew that, deep in his gut. And now they were separated because Anakin was too small and useless to help.

Jakka ignited her training lightsaber and started flicking through a few lazy katas. “Do you think Master Jinn wants a new Padawan?” She asked as she practiced. Her movements were slow and graceful.

It wasn’t the first time someone had asked him if Qui-gon wanted a Padawan. Considering that Qui-gon was still limping all the time, Anakin privately thought the answer was no. “You could ask him yourself,” he pointed out to Jakka.

She giggled at that, shaking her head. “Maybe. How’d you get Obi-wan?”

Anakin shrugged. Obi-wan hadn’t even been interested in him at first. Then everything went down with Qui-gon and the Sith and… well, it was just right. Anakin wasn’t often sure of anything, but he was sure that it felt right being with Obi-wan. They fit together well. He liked Obi-wan, and Obi-wan liked him.

“The problem is that my grades were bad last year,” Jakka said, spinning into a slash. “And I worked at getting them better but-“ She spun, leaping into the air, and slashed down at a baby tree poking up through the grass. “-but I’m afraid all the masters will look at that and think that I still suck.”

They were interrupted by Aayla appearing from between two trees. She flopped down next to Anakin. “Quin’s on mission, and I’m bored. What are you guys doing?”

Jakka dropped her lightsaber. “Oh, so now both you guys are both complaining about your masters leaving you behind,” she snapped, deactivating her blade. “I want a master to leave me behind too.”

“You’re only ten,” Aayla pointed out. “You still have three years.”

Jakka blinked rapidly a few times. “You both have masters now. Tru has a master. Kiara just got chosen by Knight Kamardé. Everybody has a master except me.”

“Kiara is twelve. She was ready.” Aayla said, laying back beside Anakin. “I mean, maybe some of Quin and Obi-wan’s friends are looking for a Padawan. What about Knight Ti? She wants to be a teacher, right?” She glanced towards Anakin.

“She is a teacher,” Anakin said.

Aayla shook her head. “Not really. Anybody can teach Intro Saber classes. That’s a punishment for senior padawans sometimes. She wants to teach real stuff. So a Padawan would be a pretty good resume builder for her. Or maybe Master Jinn? He’ll probably be more confident since he managed to train someone who didn’t turn to the Dark Side.”

“But I’m in class with her.” Jakka sat down heavily next to them. “If she was interested in me, then she would say.”

“You’ll get a master,” Aayla said, shrugging. “You just have to listen to the Force. That’s how Quin and I found each other. Probably how Obi-wan and Anakin found each other too. So it’ll happen for you soon enough.”

“What’s the point of having a master if he won’t take you with him?” Anakin asked. “You might as well take Obi-wan. He’s done with me, apparently.”

“He and Quin both,” Aayla said. “You guys want to sneak out and go see a holoflick? The new Holocron Chronicle got good reviews. Or there’s that Sy Snootles comedy.”

“I hate Sy,” Jakka muttered. “I can’t tell if I hate her acting or her singing more.”

“They’re both bad,” Aayla agreed. “Anakin?”

He was still mad, but a little intrigued. “What’s the Holocron Chronicle?”

“Some crap Jedi flicks,” Jakka said, at the same time as Aayla jumping up and exclaiming, “the best franchise of all time!”

Anakin looked between them. “Okay? What’s it about?”

“Oh, you need an education.” Aayla grabbed Anakin’s hand and pulled him up. “C’mon, Jakka. I feel a marathon coming on.”

Anything was better than sitting around and being mad at Obi-wan. Plus Obi-wan wasn’t even here to tell Anakin to go to class. He grabbed Aayla’s hand and let her haul him up.

…

“Where to?” Obi-wan asked, turning towards Bant. They had leapt from the landing pad onto the roof , balancing on broken duracrete. Other than a few wide cracks, there was little evidence of the insane amounts of damage below.

“Do you sense anything?” Bant pulled up, balancing on the edge of a broken chunk of duracrete, thrust upwards by a blast from beneath. She sensed the shifting of the broken building beneath her.

Obi-wan shook his head. “Nothing specific to this mission.” Then he turned his head, though Bant heard no noise above the roaring fires far beneath them.

“Jedi!”

“Ma’am?” She said, hopping from the metal and waving a hand to clear the smoke.

A Tholothian woman stumbled closer on a damaged leg, tears streaking through the soot and blood on her face. She must have made her way to the roof, though none of Coruscant’s emergency ‘copters had picked her up yet. “Master Jedi, please,” she wailed, running up and grabbing at Bant’s cloak. “The babies!”

Bant touched the woman’s shoulder, willing her calmness and clarity. “The babies?”

“My daughter, my little Sadi!” Her breath came in gasps. “The nursery- it’s floor three-forty-seven! They were there. Sadi and- and- and- I don’t know how many-“

“Alright,” Bant said softly. She glanced to Obi-wan, wordless.

He didn’t need to ask what she meant. He pulled out his comm, opening it to the public channel. “This is Jedi Knight Obi-wan Kenobi. The nursery on three-forty-seven? Over.”

Static crackled. The woman held her breath, slumping against Bant as she waited for a response. Her eyes were riveted on Obi-wan, even as her hands left bloody prints on Bant’s tunics.

His comm crackled. “Nice to hear from you, Master Jedi,” came a man’s gruff voice. “Working our way down. Only on four-eighty.” The voice crackled out, then came back. “How many kids?”

“I don’t know.” The woman sucked in a hitching breath. “Twelve? Fifteen? I don’t-“

“That’s okay.” Bant rubbed her shoulder. “You’ve helped. We’ll get them.”

She sobbed and nodded, letting go of Bant. “May the- the Force be- be- be with you.”

“And with you,” Bant said. She clasped the woman’s shoulders. “Get to safety. We’ll get Sadi for you.”

She turned away, found the doorway that led down into the inferno.

She took the stairs. Obi-wan loped down past her, then stopped and turned towards her when he reached the hall, holding the stairwell door for her. This hall was strangely peaceful, except for sooty footprints. Their panicked woman had not been the only one to take the exit to the roof.

“I don’t sense anything up here,” she said, closing her eyes and letting the Force rise around her. “We need a fast way down to the nursery.”

“We could jump out the window and fall,” Obi-wan suggested.

Bant glanced at him. “I would tell you not to be ridiculous, except that sounds like something Master Qui-gon would do.”

Obi-wan shrugged. “I wouldn’t trust a lift right now.”

As thought to prove his point, the entire factory shook, throwing Bant against the wall and Obi-wan down to one knee. “Point taken,” she said. “But the lift shaft may still be viable, and would be more trustworthy than tossing ourselves out a window.” She closed her eyes, trying to sort out the tangled of fear and darkness in the Force from the path meant for her. “This way.”

They jogged down the hall, turned a corner, found the lift with relative ease. The doors were closed, but opened easily with a flick from Obi-wan’s hand.

Smoke poured into the hall. Bant coughed and waved her hand, trying to clear the chemical stench.

“This is the way,” Obi-wan said, and before Bant could yell at him for using a Mandalorian mantra, he jumped. She had no choice but to jump after him.

The Jedi free-fell down the shaft, cloaks billowing. The air became hot; the smoke too thick to see.

Suddenly Obi-wan shouted, “a bad feeling!” And grabbed her foot, yanking her to a ledge. She fell backwards, hitting her skull hard against the shaft wall, Obi-wan’s hand gripped tight around her ankle. Stars exploded in her sight but she rolled her body up to grab his arm, hauling herself out of the shaft.

A plume of fire shot up where they had been falling a moment before. Obi-wan dropped atop Bant, shielding her with his cloak and his body as purple flames spilled into the hall. Even under Obi-wan’s body, Bant felt the heat of the fire.

He sat up, coughing, and shrugged off his smoking cloak.

“Thanks,” Bant said, and peered down the shaft. The walls had melted into dripping slag, collapsing lower down.

“Looks like we’ll be taking the stairs,” Obi-wan said, standing. He coughed again, then picked up his cloak and tore off a long strip and handed it to Bant. She nodded and tied it around her mouth and nostrils. He repeated it for himself, so she could only see his eyes, hardened with determination.

They began walking, looking for the stairs. This floor had already been evacuated and their footsteps echoed. A few rooms were on fire; they avoided these, and eventually found the stairwell.

“You shouldn’t have promised that woman her daughter’s life,” Obi-wan said softly as they began a slower descent.

Bant glanced back at him, eyes narrowed. “I don’t want your lecture, Obi-wan Kenobi.”

His footsteps were soft behind her, despite his being bigger than her. “You might not be able to keep it.”

She stopped short and turned. But he didn’t look judgmental- he looked sad, and she remembered when they were children and he had been sobbing in her arms over their dead classmate. But Bruck had been her classmate too, and the grief was not only Obi-wan’s to bear. “I’m saving those children,” she said instead. “Force willing or not.”

Obi-wan’s signature pressed against her through the Force, an ocean wave lapping against her mind. Then he nodded and they continued in silence down the stairs.

Twelve stories down, she froze, the Force rippling through her head. They were nowhere near the nursery, but- “I sense someone.”

“Me too.” Obi-wan tilted his head, then darted through the door. “I’ll get them. You keep going.”

“No.” She grabbed his arm. “We stick together.”

He wanted to separate. She felt his dissent, but she did not care. They were a team right now. Obi-wan might be used to Qui-gon’s definition of a team, where two people just did what they wanted and maybe answered their comms, but he was under her command right now. “We save this person together, and then we continue to the nursery. Together.”

“We could cover more ground sep-“

“Obi-wan Kenobi,” she snapped, drawing herself to her full height. “You said you would follow my lead.”

His jaw clenched, but he backed down. “Yes, Master Eerin,” he said. It was half mocking, and half respectful. Then, almost an apology, he opened the door for her.

An inferno raged beyond. He hissed at the heat.

Bant tied the cloth tighter around her face to keep the worst of the smoke out, then stepped forward into the fire.

…

Quin wasn’t there, but Aayla had a key to his apartment and the three of them took the living room. His quarters were tiny- basically a single room, and he was stuck with the public ‘fresher down the hall. A single knight didn’t require much space.

“He likes to say he just picked me so he could get better quarters,” Aayla said, pawing through his things to find his holoprojector. “Make yourselves comfortable.” She gestured to the unmade bed.

Quinlan didn’t have much space, but he certainly had a lot of stuff. Anakin had to shove a pile of dirty cloaks off the bed to the floor so he’d have room to sit. Jakka just sat on the floor, crossing her legs.

Aayla set up the projector, shoving aside a toolbox, half a broken droid, and a box of untouched art supplies. “Okay,” she said. “These are the best flicks of all time. All. Time. They’re about Jedi Master Char Stormrunner. I’m going to marry him, and Quin’s gonna walk me down the aisle. But in the first one, he’s still a Padawan. He’s actually like us, Ani. His master found him when he was a slave and rescued him to be a Jedi.”

“Wait, you were-” Anakin started, but Aayla didn’t wait for him to finish.

“So then he goes to become a Jedi, but there’s this Sith Lord- and you learn the lore as you go, I guess, but you have to know that-“

“Just put on the holoflick, Aayla,” Jakka said, waving a hand. “It tells you everything as you go along.”

She started it, the menu flashing above the projector. “You really should read the prequel book before-“

“Aayla!” Jakka insisted.

Aayla huffed, muttered under her breath about nobody understanding art, and pressed play.

...

The floor opened into a wide, high ceilinged warehouse, piled high with shelves and product to be shipped out. But the place was in flames, the heat burning against Obi-wan’s face. He gathered the Force around himself, using it as a rudimentary shield against the fire.

He knew immediately where the victim was- across the warehouse, the fiery shelves trapping them in place. The life force glowed in his head. He glanced at Bant, felt her agreement through their friend-bond.

The factory shook again. Obi-wan bent his knees, planting himself and holding his balance. One of the shelves collapsed and hot air burned against his face.

He glanced once towards Bant for permission, and then they both bolted forward.

They moved as one, bending the Force around them to twist the fires away. He leapt up onto the broken shelf, letting the Force tell him which piece was solid and which would collapse and break his leg.

Bant landed on the ground, sprinting between the shelves. Obi-wan jumped up, one shelf, onto a burning crate, to the top of the units.

The metal shelf was hot through his boots. The shelf trembled under his weight, every footstep echoing through the unit.

But he could see where he was going- a transparasteel control area up high, where the whole warehouse would be visible. There were two people inside- he saw their terrified faces, and lit his lightsaber so they’d see him through the smoke.

The fire spread to his shelf- he felt the thing groan, felt it tremble under his weight. “Obi-wan!” Bant called, but he grit his teeth and jumped.

Bant planted herself on the ground and threw her arms out- the transparasteel shattered inwards from her blast of the Force and Obi-wan landed on the platform, boots crunching on shattered window.

The two workers had been thrown out of reach of the shatter zone by Bant’s blast of the Force. They would be bruised but they were unharmed, and their eyes were wide.

“Master Jedi,” a large twi’lek man said, jumping forward and grabbing Obi-wan’s hand. Transparasteel shards crunched under his work boots. “Thank you- they missed us up here-“

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Obi-wan warned. “Bant!”

“I’m ready!” She called, invisible in the smoke down below. She lit her lightsaber, and the glow was a beacon.

“Jump,” Obi-wan told the workers. “She’ll catch you.”

The second worker, a human woman with short cropped hair under her company ball cap, took a deep breath. “Here goes,” she said, and leapt towards the glow of Bant’s lightsaber.

After a moment she called up, “I’m okay! Your turn, Tri’ent!”

Tri’ent stepped to the edge of the platform. He tensed, moved, then danced back. “I can’t-“

“We don’t have time for this,” Obi-wan said, a bit sharper than he meant. “Jump- my partner will catch you.”

He grit his teeth, jaw clenching, lekku flat to his back.

“I’m going to throw you,” Obi-wan warned, gathering the Force around his hand.

“Wait- what? Master Jediiiiiiiiahhhhh!”

Obi-wan leapt down, rolling through the landing and popping back up just in time to see another shelf toppling towards them.

Tri’ent saw it too, his terror blowing through Obi-wan’s brain. He caught the fear, let it cycle through him, down through his heart and out through his hands. The tipping shelf ripped in half, the two sides peeling away and landing harmlessly on either side. Smoke billowed. Flames roared.

“Let’s go,” Bant said. “Follow Obi-wan.”

“Wait, Obi-wan Kenobi?” The woman asked. “From that footage-“

Obi-wan darted off, clearing the way of flames, harnessing the Force and curling it through the air. Sweat stuck his hair to his head as they ran through the roar of the fire. The entire room was in flames- they ran in a bubble of clear air, controlled by two Jedi. The Force was chaotic in his hands, whipped around by the fire and the fear.

And yet they made it to the warehouse entrance, falling forward into the relative coolness of the hall. Obi-wan and the two workers were soaked in sweat- Bant alone still looked neat, but her skin was bright with the heat.

“Head up to the roof,” Bant said to the two workers. “The way up is clear.”

“Thank you, Master Jedi,” Tri’ent said. The woman beside him bowed, then darted off, followed by her larger companion. They worked here. They knew their way from here, Force willing.

But the Force nudged Obi-wan in another direction, a feeling that whispered in his head and rolled like nausea in his belly. He took a step, then looked back to Bant.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he said.

She blinked, then inclined her head. “Then that’s probably the direction we need to go.”

They sprinted down the hall.

…

Jakka was kind of right. This holoflick did kind of suck. Anakin wasn’t exactly a connoisseur of entertainment, but even he could say that. The special effects seemed subpar and the story was woefully predictable. Anakin didn’t say it out loud though, because Aayla mouthed along with the more iconic lines. And it wasn’t that bad. It just… wasn’t that interesting.

Instead of saying that out loud, he just caught Jakka’s eyes and shrugged a little. She made a face back.

Aayla huffed at them both. “Come on,” she said. “You have to pay attention- did you notice the broken lightsaber logo in the background? That’s important.”

“We’re supposed to be in class in ten minutes,” Jakka said. “We should stop it and finish later.”

“You have to be in class,” Aayla corrected, flopping back against Quin’s pillows. “I’ll just finish my marathon alone.” She sighed. “I’m off for the rest of the day anyways. It’s just a makeup test for anybody who missed the Old Republic History exam last week. And I already took it.”

Anakin started to get up, then froze, crinkling his nose. The Force seemed to tremble in his head. It had ever since Obi-wan called him. But it was worse now. He could feel Obi-wan’s anxiety in the back of his head, and it made his own heart flutter.

He sat back heavily on the bed. “I don’t think I can focus on class,” he said. “I can feel Obi-wan.”

“No you can’t.” Aayla sat up, brow furrowed. “That factory explosion is all the way on the other side of the planet. That’s too far to feel.”

Anakin shrugged. “Yeah, but I can. Can’t you feel Quin?”

“No.” She straightened up. “He’s not even in the system. Wait, really?”

Anakin nodded. “I couldn’t really before, but he just got… he gets those feelings sometimes. About the future. And he just got one, and then I could feel him really strong.” He drew in a breath, considering it. “Like he gets more connected, I guess. I dunno.” He touched his temple. “But I feel him. And I don’t like it. I feel like he’s in trouble. Or… he’s gonna be.”

Jakka reached out and paused the holoflick, then turned around. “Should you tell someone? A master?”

“I don’t know.” Anakin bit his lip. Both girls were staring at him, their twin gazes heavy in the Force. “Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with his mission.”

“But maybe it does,” Jakka said, hopping up on the bed next to him. “Can you tell? Can you connect with him telepathically?”

Anakin shook his head. “No. It’s too far for that, I think. I mean, I can’t even read his mind up close. Not like, words. Just feelings.” He closed his eyes. “But maybe I can connect just enough to see.”

…

They took another elevator shaft down, leaping from ledge to ledge, free falling where there were no foot holds and catching each other where they could. They passed the floors with rescue teams- Bant sensed them, and then they were gone as they fell deeper into the building.

The factory shook again as they reached the floor with the daycare and some offices. Bant landed, but the shake threw Obi-wan off and he hit the shaft wall with a curse. Bant grit her teeth and reached out with the Force, grabbing his body and stopping his fall. He dug his fingers into a ripped seam of the shaft wall and hung for a second, then hauled himself up and onto the nursery’s floor.

Bant ran down the hall, confident that Obi-wan was following. She threw open a security door with the Force, and the factory shook again, earthquake-violent. A piece of the ceiling fell with a shriek of metal and caught Obi-wan’s shoulder. He grunted, twisting away, pulling the cloth away from his nose so he could better breathe through the blunt-force pain.

“Anakin,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“What?” Bant turned. He was bleeding from his shoulder, darkening his tunic, though when he circled his arm he had full range of motion.

“I sense Anakin,” he said, narrowing his eyes. He shook his head. “Far away.”

Bant drew in a breath. “He’s not here, Obi-wan. He's across the planet.”

“I know.” Obi-wan shook his head. “Sorry, it distracted me. He’s like a beacon. Let’s go.”

Another piece of ceiling collapsed, throwing duracrete dust in a cloud. Even through the fabric wrapped around her face, the dust made Bant cough. “This place is coming down,” she said, running ahead and turning a corner. “We need to get those kids out. I sense them.”

“Let’s take them through the wall.” Obi-wan pulled out his comm. As soon as he activated it, it crackled with radio signals from the surrounding teams. “This is Kenobi,” he said, and grunted as another quake threw him into the wall. “We’re on three-forty-seven, northern side of the factory. We’re gonna slice through the wall and get the daycare children out that way. Someone pick us up- over.”

Crackling silence from the comm.

“We’re in range, right?” Bant hissed, and then they were at the daycare’s doors. She pushed them open.

It was chaos inside. Half the ceiling had come down, and a young woman huddled under the tables with thirteen children. Thirteen- a dangerous number, unlucky, Bant thought. Obi-wan would say there was no such thing as luck, but Obi-wan had the worst luck of them all.

“Master Jedi,” the daycare counselor whispered. She nudged the two children closest to her. “Look- the Jedi are here.”

“Jedi!” One girl explaimed, a Tholothian. Sadi, probably. “You’ll save us! Right?”

“Right,” Bant said, kneeling down to smile at the girl, and the rest of the children huddled under the table. “Now, Obi-wan’s going to lead the way, and I’ll help carry the babies. We’re going to the edge of the building, and he’s going to cut through the wall, and then a ‘copter or a speeder will pick us up. Okay?”

“Okay,” the girl said, nodding. She crawled out from under the table, then reached out to help two of the other children up to- a human boy of about three, and a twi’lek who was probably seven or eight.

“How many babies?” Bant asked the counselor, leaning over to grab her hand.

“Four,” she replied. “I have slings- if we take two each-”

The building shook, more violently this time. Someone screamed as the lights flickered out

Crashing, dust choking the air-

The lights came back on and the hall had collapsed, the hallway filling with debris. It spilled through the reinforced doorway into the room, blocking them in, burying them in a little bubble of oxygen.

The building trembled again, violently, and the lights flickered again, strobing, then going black. Bant felt two kids grab onto her, hands tangling in her tunics, tiny fingernails biting her skin.

“We have to go,” Obi-wan snapped, lightsaber igniting. A blue glow snapped through the room. “I’ll clear the way- you get them out.”

The building shook. Bant nearly fell. “Obi-wan-”

His eyes met hers, glowing in the illumination of his lightsaber. He nodded to Sadi, and handed the blade out. “Here- use it as a flashlight. Help Bant cut the wall. She’ll show you how.”

Sadi took the weapon, her eyes wide. She held it gingerly like it would explode.

Obi-wan turned towards the blocked hall. “You remember the way to the edge of the building?” he asked Bant.

She nodded. “I’m going to cut through.”

“Sadi will help you.”

Without another word, Obi-wan turned to the hallway, squaring his shoulders. He let out a slow breath.

Then he raised his hands before him.

The debris trembled. Dust lifted, and then smaller pieces of plaster, and then the larger beams. Bant felt the Force prickle through the air like static, sensed the building shake higher up. The whole thing was coming down now, faster, as fires raged through other floors. They had to leave now, or be buried forever.

The counselor took two of the babies. The twi’lek boy took another, and Bant took the last, holding the child in one arm while wielding her lightsaber with the other.

Obi-wan grit his teeth, closing his eyes. The debris lifted, higher, the hallway clearing. They were free- as long as Obi-wan could hold the collapse.

And then the building shook again, and more dust fell. Metal shrieked above them as beams cracked and broke. More ceiling fell in the nursery, pieces falling and shattering against the tables. The baby in Bant’s arms started screaming at the noise.

Obi-wan grunted and fell to one knee. The debris floating in the hall trembled.

“Go,” he growled through his teeth.

“You heard him,” Bant snapped, and pushed Sadi forward. “Everyone! Go!”

They ran- she counted heads as they went, narrowing her eyes, nodding at the counselor to go. The woman’s eyes were wide, her terror tangible, but she stopped to scan the room for stragglers before she ran after the children.

Bant felt the collapse over their heads. The floor bucked underneath them. The outer perimeter of the building was close- she sliced through a locked conference room door and waved them through.

She felt the rumble deep in her chest, heard Obi-wan cry out. His grasp of the Force was tangible- she sensed him in the very air even as she sliced a hole in the wall. Wind whipped through the room and they looked into empty air.

There was no speeder waiting, and only now did Bant remember that Obi-wan had never received a confirmation for their plan.

Sadi started crying. The baby in Bant’s arms screamed. She handed her off to another bigger child and turned back to the hall- “Obi-wan!”

He had half followed, only to fall to his knees again, still in the hall. His nose bled, dribbling black down his face with the dim hall light. “Is there…?” he asked, arms trembling, outstretched, palms facing the ceiling.

The pieces trembled. The factory shook. “It’s collapsing,” Bant said. The entire building, collapsing on top of them, and only Obi-wan stood between them and getting crushed.

Obi-wan narrowed his eyes. His tunic was soaked with sweat A few drops of blood dripped from his nose to his chest. “I can’t hold it for long,” he whispered. She couldn’t hear his voice. She only saw his lips move.

She nodded sharply and pulled out her comm. “This is Padawan Eerin,” she said. “We’re on three-forty-seven, north side. Thirteen children, one worker, over.”

Static. There was no signal this deep, or else everyone was busy. Bant drew in a shuddering breath, then repeated the message.

The building shuddered. Obi-wan dropped his head, palms trembling as he held up the building. The rest of the hall collapsed behind him. Plaster fell, dusting his hair white.

Sadi poked her head out of the conference room. “There’s nobody there,” she said, face glowing in the light of Obi-wan’s lightsaber. “We’re alone, Master Jedi.”

“We’re not alone,” Bant said, turning sharply. “Hold that lightsaber out the hole I made- they’ll see the glow. It’s a beacon. Obi-wan, hold the ceiling. I’m calling my master.”

Obi-wan grunted. His tunic was stained with sweat. Bant could sense his effort- he alone kept them alive, but how long could he hold a collapsing building? She sank to her knees, closed her eyes. It was hard to sense anything beyond Obi-wan’s overwhelming presence, but her master was nearby. She touched his mind, let him feel her urgency.

She felt his returning touch. Soon, Padawan- hold for me.

She opened her eyes. “He’s coming,” she said, stepping into the conference room and bowing her head to the daycare class. “Another Jedi is coming. We are not-”

Obi-wan groaned and the world slipped, the floor bucking beneath them, the ceiling dropping lower. “Bant,” he groaned through his teeth. Blood dripped to the floor, black spots in the shadows.

“Stay there,” she commanded and ran to Obi-wan, falling to her knees in front of him. “Hold it, Kenobi. I’m going to help you- Master Kit is coming.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly, breath trembling through his teeth.

Bant closed her eyes and touched his mind, holding her palms out in front of her.

The weight made her mind flicker. She gasped, the Force slamming through her. She couldn’t hold it. Couldn’t hold it, and she was helping- she was barely taking the load from Obi-wan. She was going to faint-

“Obi-wan,” she whispered, and she felt his mind touch hers. Her very brain hurt with the weight of the building- how was Obi-wan conscious? They held it together, balancing their little bubble of stability as the factory collapsed around them-

And then she felt Anakin.

The boy’s presence flared bright through Obi-wan and then through Bant, blasting upwards through the Force. He was a nuclear bomb, spreading through Obi-wan’s signature like wildfire, and Bant had to fall back or let her mind be burnt out by the boy’s brilliance. Her head pounded as she fell backwards-

-she opened her eyes, and Obi-wan was standing, palms opened to the ceiling. Blood oozed from his nose, dribbled from the corner of his mouth. His eyes glowed.

His eyes glowed.

Bright as Anakin, his eyes glowed, and Bant scrambled backwards. “Obi-wan,” she whispered.

A speeder whined outside the hole in the wall. One of the kids cheered.

Kit jumped through the hole. Bant felt his presence, warm, bright in the back of her mind, and he touched her shoulder.

“That’s new,” Kit said, narrowing his eyes at Obi-wan. Then he closed his eyes, raised his own palms to the ceiling. “Okay, Kenobi,” he said after a moment. “I’ve got the building. Kids are safe. Let go.”

Obi-wan trembled. Every muscle was tensed. His signature was bright around them, blinding as Anakin when Bant closed her eyes.

“Stand down, Kenobi!” Kit commanded.

And Kit so rarely commanded- he was always calm, always friendly, and the deep voice shocked Obi-wan, even through his concentration. The glow faded- the sense of Anakin vanished.

Obi-wan collapsed. Bant caught him before his head could crack against the ground. Blood and plaster dust smeared his face in a paste. She dragged him out to the waiting speeder, throwing him on the floor between Sadi and the Twi’lek boy.

Sadi hooked his lightsaber back to his belt, her eyes big. “Is he dead?”

Kit leapt through the hole in the wall, and the driver took them off even as the entire side of the building collapsed, throwing smoke and dust and debris into the air. The speeder rocked with the shockwaves but held as they flew away.

…

Anakin collapsed, blood dripping from his nose to Quinlan’s pillow.

Chapter Text

“He is unnatural,” Rancisis said, glaring around at the rest of the Council, daring them to disagree. “He was too old to join the Order, and now he’s blown out the mind of one of our top knights!”

“Kenobi is strong in the Force,” Mundi agreed, steepling his fingers under his chin. “If Skywalker was strong enough to lay him out from across a planet, then I fear what he could do in the future if we were to train him.”

“But if we do not continue his training, then who’s to say there won’t be another accident like that?” Depa asked. “By training him, we are protecting both ourselves, and everyone around him. He must control his powers.”

“At the expense of established Jedi?” Mundi shook his head. “No. Our people are not worth one boy, even with these powers. Perhaps if Jinn had found him earlier- but he did not. We must focus on the moment. And in the moment, Skywalker has laid out a fully-grown knight from across the planet.”

“Has anybody spoken with Kenobi?” Mace asked. He had been relatively quiet, choosing to let the Councilors tire themselves out with their rhetoric before speaking. In the end, it did not matter what any of them thought. Yoda would have the final say.

But Yoda was being quiet as well, observing behind guarded eyes.

Koon shifted, pulling his datapad from his pocket. The screen lit up. The room went silent, watching as he surreptitiously clicked through the menus. “Che said that he is still unconscious, but his reflexes are intact and both she and Jinn can still sense his signature. She suspects strong Force-exhaustion, but we’ll know for certain when he wakes.”

Silence, for a moment, then Koon added, “And Padawan Skywalker is still unconscious as well, though none of you asked. The boy needs training now more than ever, and he and Kenobi share a strong bond. May I remind you that Kenobi’s threat to leave the Order likely still stands?” He pushed his datapad back into his pocket. “I vote that this entire meeting is a waste of all our time. Kenobi has already made his position clear, and he is, as you say, Master Rancisis, one of our top knights. His opinion matters here.”

“His opinion may change now that he has been injured by his apprentice,” Rancisis said, swiveling to face Koon. “He chose to take on Skywalker in the wake of Jinn’s defeat- Jinn is recovered now, and new information has come to light about-”

“You should not put words into Kenobi’s mouth,” Depa interrupted. Her eyes flicked towards Mace- he knew that she was trying to gauge his opinion. But his old padawan would be disappointed- he had no idea what he thought. He saw both sides of the argument. She searched his face, then spoke again. “No decision should be made until somebody speaks with him.”

“Kenobi is not the issue here,” Mundi said. “Kenobi did his duty without-”

“Did we forget Mandalore?” Rancisis asked. “Defeating a Sith and being knighted does not erase the fact that Kenobi had a year-long affair with-”

“That mission is closed,” Mace said, holding up a hand. “It holds no relevance-”

“Attachments are his weakness,” Rancisis continued, like he had not been interrupted. “I have seen it before, in other knights, and I see the same worrying pattern repeated in him. His attachments have caused him to slip up in the past. His own Master Jinn, the late Master Uvain, Duchess Kryze… Those same attachments will cloud his judgement considering Skywalker. The emotion remains, even when the people change.”

“And yet we have not even given him a chance to speak for himself,” Depa said, standing her ground. “Perhaps his opinion will have changed. Perhaps not. Attachment or no, Kenobi is an intelligent young man, and he is self-aware of his own weaknesses. Let him speak before we vote.”

“I agree with Master Billaba,” Tiin spoke up. Quiet, intimidating, but always watchful, Mace greatly valued his opinion. Tiin continued, “We are speaking on events that we did not witness ourselves. We have Knight Fisto and Padawan Eerin’s accounts. We lack Kenobi’s and Skywalker’s. Until they are conscious, we cannot pass judgement.”

Mace glanced over at Yoda, trying to figure the Grandmaster’s opinion. But Yoda’s ears only perked towards whomever spoke. He offered no opinion himself.

But Saesee and Depa’s opinions made the most sense, and nobody else offered anything useful. Oppo seemed to know he had lost, but he was a crotchety old motherfucker anyways. He was too old to be on the Council, but he had always been there, and his experience did make him wise.

“We will table this discussion,” Mace said. “And move onto the next order of business. The Corm’rari family owns one of the factories affected by the blast, and they have given us a large grant to go towards education. We need ideas on what to do with the money. I am leaning towards renovating the Creche.”

“We renovated the Creche only twenty years ago,” Rancisis said, crossing his arms. “The bottom floor of the Archives needs new furniture.”

“Speak of renovations you do,” Yaddle said, perking up at the change in subject. “But new supplies and updated technology, the classrooms need.”

Mace let out a breath. This was going to be a long day. Still, he supposed, better here than sitting at Kenobi’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up.

…

“It wasn’t your fault,” Vokara said. “I know what you’re thinking right now, and you need to stop. They’re both fine- I checked them myself. They need to sleep. That’s all.”

Qui-gon knew that. He knew Force-exhaustion. He had suffered from it himself in the past, when he pushed himself too hard and found himself with a headache for the next week. It was analogous to pulling a muscle, albeit in the brain instead of the body. But, like any other injury, it could be minor or it could be serious.

But he heard what happened. He had felt the ripples in the Force from Anakin’s throwing his consciousness so far, and he had felt the pain of it through his bond with Obi-wan. The boys had pulled off a feat of incredible power, and it was because Qui-gon had pushed Anakin onto Obi-wan.

So if Obi-wan had damaged himself, if he’d permanently affected his connection to the Force, then it would be Qui-gon’s fault, whatever Vokara said.

“They’re fine, Jinn,” Vokara said, stepping forward into the room. “I promise. They’ve already been asleep for a day, and they might sleep for a day more. Go home. Rest yourself.”

“I’ll stay.” He inclined his head. “At least until they wake.”

Vokara sighed. “You’re miserable, the lot of you.” She gestured towards Obi-wan’s unconscious form in the bed- someone had cleaned the blood from his face, but he still looked too pale. “Did you talk to him?”

“I did.” Qui-gon half turned towards her, but left his hand resting on Obi-wan’s arm. “Perhaps too little too late, but he… appreciated it, I think.” He sighed. “You were right, as you usually are.”

Vokara sniffed. “It’s nice to hear you say it, at least once.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Qui-gon warned. He turned back towards Obi-wan, then glanced towards Anakin in the next bed over. A curtain separated them, though it was thrown back. “Do you know when they might wake?”

“Hard to say.” Vokara gestured. “Anakin exerted more energy, but Obi-wan took the brunt of it. It was quite the blast of power- poor Padawan Eerin has a headache just from touching it, let alone taking it on. Kenobi could be out for a few days, and I would not be concerned.” She let out an irritated breath. “I could not predict Anakin’s response, but we both know Obi-wan always wakes up early. Save your worry.”

Qui-gon squeezed Obi-wan’s arm. Vokara lingered for another moment, then turned away. She had other charges- smoke inhalation and burns and injuries, on Jedi, but also on the overflow of first responders and victims that were either too poor or too weak for a Republic hospital. The Halls of Healing were loud today, full of running feet and shouting healers.

“Did you know about this?” He asked the ghost in the corner, without turning his head. “Did you do this in your timeline?”

“I have done many things,” Vader said. He wore his full armor this time, voice resonating in Qui-gon’s chest. “I have not done anything as stupid as they just did.”

Qui-gon turned. “But you are that powerful.”

He only saw himself in those mirrored black lenses, and he let out an irritated breath and turned away again. “You saved Obi-wan before,” he said. “You should have saved him again.”

“He did not need saving.” Vader stood straight, hands clasped behind his back. “His padawan would not hurt him.”

“No,” Qui-gon murmured, and half turned to glare at Vader from under his hair. “He would only kill him.”

The Force twisted in the room, the Dark Side a dangerous sussurance. Anakin made a little noise in his sleep. Obi-wan twisted away from the hallway light, awareness flickering lethargically.

“Don’t speak of events you did not live yourself,” Vader warned. “You know nothing, old man. You are foolish and naive.”

“I may be a fool, but I am not naive.” Qui-gon turned again, touching Obi-wan’s face. “I know the horrors of this galaxy, Anakin. I do not blame you for the actions of your timeline.”

Vader offered no comeback. He simply vanished.

Obi-wan stirred, pressing deeper into the blankets. His signature flicked against Qui-gon’s mind, but that tiny use of the Force set off his headache. Qui-gon winced at secondhand pain- Anakin’s blast of power had wiped out Obi-wan’s shields. He would be angry when he fully came to and found that anybody could read his mind. But for now, Qui-gon only took advantage of the weakness to siphon off the worst of the throbbing.

“Too bright,” Obi-wan slurred against the pillow.

“I know, Padawan,” Qui-gon said. He took a risk and smoothed some of Obi-wan’s hair from his face. It had grown back wavy, but it was still gritty from his mission. “Unfortunately, that’s as low as the lights go.”

He felt the flick of annoyance against his mind, followed by the pain. Obi-wan hissed, and Qui-gon felt his awareness more fully return to life. He said nothing and simply continued to stroke Obi-wan’s hair, doing his best to pick out the larger chunks of plaster and duracrete dust.

“Where’s Ana- oh.” Obi-wan had opened his eyes now, saw that he was placed in the same room as his Padawan. He started to push himself up- Qui-gon touched his back, willing to offer assistance. But Obi-wan blanched and fell back down, curling in on himself.

“He’s alright, Padawan,” Qui-gon said, rubbing Obi-wan’s back as the headache-nausea faded. “Same as you, but otherwise alright. It is temporary.”

Obi-wan made a face. A complicated series of emotion crossed over his expression, flickering openly through his mind as well. Guilt, annoyance, pain, pride, a denial of pain, worry, more guilt, all settling into a cocktail of low level anxiety that made Qui-gon’s own stomach clench. “So he’s not alright then,” Obi-wan muttered into the pillow.

“Obi-wan!” Qui-gon quietly exclaimed, nudging his shoulder.

The anxiety spiked into irritation and questioning. Silently, Obi-wan raised an eyebrow.

“Did you just admit that you’re hurt?” Qui-gon asked, keeping his voice light and playful. “I’ve never heard you do that before.”

“Shut up,” Obi-wan muttered, throwing an arm over his face. “It isn’t that bad.”

“But it is if Anakin takes the pain instead of you…”

Obi-wan grunted wordlessly.

“I feel the same towards you, you know.” Qui-gon settled his hand on Obi-wan’s shoulder, rubbing slow circles. Under the white gown they’d given him, Qui-gon felt the corner of a bacta patch. He hoped that injury wasn’t serious, but Obi-wan’s consciousness was already fading and he didn’t want to ask.

“Sleep, Obi-wan,” he said, when the boy’s awareness flickered again. “Anakin is alright. Rest, so you may help him through the symptoms when he wakes.”

That did the trick. Obi-wan had almost sunk completely into unconsciousness when his comm went off in the pile of his things on one of the chairs. He made a pathetic noise, but Qui-gon brushed his hair back again. “I’ll take that for you. Sleep.”

And that was all it took for Obi-wan to drift back into the black.

Qui-gon got up with a grunt- he had to wait a moment for the stars to clear from his vision. Stress aggravated his own injuries, he noted. He let the pain dissipate into the Force, and when he finally got to the chair, the comm had stopped beeping.

He would have been happy to ignore it, to let Obi-wan go back to whatever that conversation would have been when time allowed. But out of curiosity he glanced at the caller ID.

His heart dropped, and he limped to the hall before calling her back.

She picked up immediately. “Ben, I saw the news- are you alri-”

“It’s Qui-gon.”

He heard Satine’s sharp intake of breath. “Master Jinn, I’m sorry-”

“Do not apologize on my account.” Qui-gon knew he should have chastised her for calling, but truly, he was happy to hear her voice. She was a friend. “Obi-wan is fine. He is sleeping off a bit of Force exhaustion, but I’m sure he’ll comm you when he sees your missed call.”

“He does not need to,” Satine said. “We are not-”

“Of course not,” Qui-gon soothed.

“I mean it, Qui-gon.”

“I know,” he assured her.

She was silent for a long moment, and then, “he is alright though? There was footage of Padawan Eerin dragging him out on the news.”

“I promise you, he is fine.” Qui-gon moved to a bench in the hall so he could sit and take the weight off his legs. “He woke up for a few moments before you called. He’s irritated and has a headache but he was more concerned about Anakin’s well-being than his own.”

Satine let out a breath. “That sounds like him. Wait- Anakin? They let a boy go into that collapsing building?”

Too late, Qui-gon realized his mistake. Of course Satine did not know what had transpired. She was not there to feel the surge in the Force, hadn’t seen two initiates dragging Anakin, nose bleeding a trail of red drops, through the halls.

“No,” he said. “Of course not- Anakin is technically a Padawan, but he is still initiate age and treated as such. There was an incident. It is, of course, privileged information.”

“Of course,” Satine replied, voice strained.

He could tell her now, or she would find out later. She and Obi-wan were clearly talking, if she had called so easily and answered her comm with such familiarity.

“Anakin used his own power to support Obi-wan’s own connection with the Force,” Qui-gon said, keeping it simple. “The issue being that Anakin was half a planet away and does not know his own strength. They are both fine, but I suspect the Council is not pleased at the surprise.”

There was silence on the other end as Satine absorbed the information. “He and Anakin must have a strong connection then,” she finally said.

“They do.” Qui-gon watched a healer Padawan run by, braid bouncing against his shoulder.

Silence, again. Qui-gon almost thought Satine had dropped the call, but then he heard her breath catch.

“Satine?” He straightened, though he couldn’t see her. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” But her voice sounded thick. “I am only realizing that I am a distraction.” She forced a little laugh. “I did know it before, but between Anakin and- we cannot afford to distract each other. The longer we are apart, the more true it becomes.”

“Between Anakin and what?” Qui-gon straightened, frowning.

“And- my own responsibilities. My people.” Her voice was strained on the other end of the call. “I cannot be the reason Obi-wan is distracted from Anakin, and he cannot distract me from Mandalore.”

“Satine…” But she was right, after all. He could not argue with it. “There is a heavy responsibility on your shoulders,” he said instead. “You are a brave young woman, and too smart for your own good, sometimes.”

“Not smart enough,” she said, and then burst into muffled tears, like she was covering the comm with her hand.

Qui-gon closed his eyes and let out a breath. He wasn’t close enough to feel her emotion, but he imagined he could. The poor girl had lost her immediate family to the violence of civil war and was now trying to single-handedly pick up the pieces of her world. It was no wonder she had bonded to Obi-wan and Qui-gon. It was no wonder that Qui-gon had bonded to her in return.

“You are smart enough,” he said, when her sobs slowed a moment later. “I have seen you work. Your passion and care for your people shines through every action, Satine. Even if they don’t realize yet, they are lucky to have you.”

Her breath hitched. “I miss you,” she finally said, in a little, broken voice.

His heart twinged for her. This was not the first time she cried to him, and if he followed the Force, it would not be the last. It felt right- Satine was not Force sensitive, but the Force still loved her. It just so happened that in this case, the Force and Qui-gon’s own heart were in agreement. “Would you like me to come visit? My schedule is woefully free, at the moment.”

She had gathered control of her tears, but her voice was still tiny. “I know you have your responsibilities…”

“I do not. My injuries are still too great for fieldwork, and the Council has not assigned me duties in the Temple yet.” He hesitated. “If it would help you to see me, I will gladly take a shuttle-“

“Yes,” she interrupted. “Of course I want to see you- I know it is unprofessional but-”

 “You are my friend, Satine.” Qui-gon’s voice was soft, despite himself. “I will not take your job offer, but I will gladly drink your tea.”

“I can make tea,” she said, a little pathetically.

Qui-gon chuckled. “We both know you cannot, unless you call bitter caf tea. But I will drink your attempt anyways.”

“There must be a holonet video on how to properly brew it,” she said. Her voice had become a little stronger with the shallow ribbing. “I know I can never live up to your standards, but I will try.”

“Do, or do not, Satine. There is no try.”

“I am no Jedi, Master Jinn,” she said, coming back to herself. “The tenets of your ancient scholars have no hold on me. There is only the way of the Mandalore.”

“Will our peoples ever get along?” Qui-gon asked.

“Unfortunately, I believe the strife runs too deeply.” Satine took a breath. “I am being summoned.”

“Go. You are needed. I will comm you when Anakin and Obi-wan are back on their feet.” He smiled under his beard, though he knew she couldn’t see him. “It is always good to hear your voice, Satine.”

“And yours as well. May the Force be with you.”

“This is the way,” Qui-gon said back, and ended the call.

He glanced back towards the room where Obi-wan and Anakin slept, and decided not to tell Obi-wan about the conversation he had just had. Satine could tell him if she wanted, but Qui-gon would not be the distraction here.

…

Anakin woke to a pounding headache. He moaned and pulled his blanket over his head, trying to block out what little light there was. “Obi-wan?” he asked quietly.

No answer, though he could sense Obi-wan nearby. He poked his head out from under the blanket, wincing at the light, only to see Obi-wan in the next bed over. They were in the Halls of Healing. Anakin groaned and pulled the blanket over his head, trying to remember how he’d got here.

But the last thing he remembered was watching the Holocron Chronicles with Aayla and Jakka. That shouldn’t have landed him in the Halls, unless maybe they’d started sparring and he’d hit his head.

But that didn’t explain why Obi-wan was unconscious in the second bed.

Anakin sat up, then whimpered at the throbbing in his brain. “Obi-wan?” he asked again.

But Obi-wan remained silent.

Anakin’s eyes burned. He didn’t want to cry- he hadn’t cried here yet, but his head hurt and he was actually hydrated and Obi-wan wasn’t answering him. Still, he swallowed his tears and scooched to the edge of the bed. “Obi-wan,” he insisted, his voice thin and whiny to his own ears.

But Obi-wan had curled under his own blankets, and he felt dark and far away. It hurt to feel for him- it made Anakin’s whole brain throb and he dropped his face to his hands.

He wasn’t alone for long. Someone knocked on the door, and though she had knocked lightly, the sound pounded through Anakin’s head.

It was Kitsa, the healer. “Anakin?” she asked softly. “I saw that you were awake.”

Anakin nodded, barely moving his head. “My head hurts,” he said pathetically, and looked back to Obi-wan.

“He’ll be alright,” Kitsa said, stepping into the room and pulling a chair to the side of Anakin’s bed. “He’s suffering the same headache as you. We call it Force Exhaustion- it’s not as uncommon as you might think, though we train so we might avoid it.”

Anakin pressed the heel of his palm into his skull. “But how did it happen?”

Kitsa leaned forward, resting her chin on one hand. “You mean you don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” Anakin pressed both hands into his temples. “It just hurts.”

“I know, sweetheart.” She reached out and touched his arm. Anakin felt her cooling presence wash over him, washing away some of the pain with it. Not all of it, but enough to take some of the pressure off. “Are you sure you can’t remember?”

“Remember what?” Anakin rubbed his hands down his face. “What am I supposed to remember?”

“You helped Obi-wan,” Kitsa said softly. “He was on his mission, holding a collapsing building, and you lent him your strength. It was quite the spectacle, I’ve been told.”

Anakin grit his teeth, then looked over at Obi-wan again. “I did that?”

“You did,” Kitsa murmured.

Anakin shook his head, but that just made the pain flare up again. “I don’t remember that.”

“Interesting. That’s okay.” Kitsa touched his arm again. “You need to sleep. That’s the only thing that will make this better.”

Anakin nodded, and obediently lay down against the pillow and closed his eyes. The pain pulsed red behind his eyelids.

“Sleep now,” Kitsa murmured, and Anakin felt the pressure of her words, even as she drew the blanket back up over his shoulders. He waited for her to leave, the darkness of slumber beckoning him. But before he could be drawn down completely, he crawled out from under the blankets and crawled into the bed next to Obi-wan.

He wriggled under the blankets, under Obi-wan’s limp arm. “Sorry,” he murmured into Obi-wan’s chest, closing his eyes and listening to Obi-wan’s slow heartbeat. “I guess I did this.”

Obi-wan did not reply, and try as he might, Anakin couldn’t remember. He let sleep take him again.

…

“Hello, Kenobi.”

Obi-wan blinked a few times, trying to clear the vision. It hurt; everything was blurry. This was a dream, a vision, what have you, but he couldn’t orient himself. Not when his head throbbed like his every heartbeat was a battering ram.

“Hello there,” he said, turning a whole circle. His body was lazy to respond. “Would you mind showing yourself?”

But he knew already, even before his eyes fell on the tattooed face in the shadows. “Sith,” he said.

“You’re a vision, a wraith, a ghost in the shadows.” The Sith crawled forward, dragging his ruined body. “You come to me to gloat? Well gloat all you want, Kenobi, Kenobi, you bastard Jedi. I’ll get you someday. I swear it. I swear it on the ghost of your dead master.”

Obi-wan flinched, but the ruined vision wasn’t going to hurt him. He just had to ride it out. The Force was glitching through his brain and playing with his perceptions.

“I killed you once,” he said, turning his back on the vision. “Come back, and I’ll do it again.”

“Do not ignore me!” The Sith dragged himself forward, panting like a rapid dog. “You cannot ignore me, Kenobi. I will hunt you to the ends of the galaxy. You will be mine. I will have my vengeance.”

Obi-wan glanced back, raising an eyebrow. “You might want to find yourself some legs, first.”

The Sith pushed himself up on his elbows and screamed his rage. The noise sawed through Obi-wan’s skull. He saw stars, stumbled, fell.

Someone held him down. He grunted, trying to pull away from the arms. Head aching, pounding, the Force too far away, he groaned.

“Obi-wan?”

Anakin’s voice was tiny, and the world snapped back into focus. He was in the Halls of Healing, and Anakin had tucked himself under Obi-wan’s arm. The boy was warm, and Obi-wan let out a little breath and relaxed again.

“Are you alright?” Obi-wan asked, squeezing his arm.

Anakin made a miserable little noise.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Obi-wan closed his eyes and dropped his forehead against Anakin’s hair. “I didn’t know you were that strong,” he murmured.

“I can’t remember it,” Anakin said. He tangled his fingers in Obi-wan’s hospital gown. “They told me what I did, but I didn’t- I don’t remember-“

Obi-wan shushed him, rubbing his arm. “That’s okay, Padawan. We can talk about it later.”

“But I hurt you.” Anakin scrambled, sitting up. Obi-wan pulled his arm back, but didn’t move himself. His head still hurt, and his shoulder ached. He heard the crackle of a bacta patch when he tensed the muscle. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident and I don’t even remember!”

Obi-wan winced at the boy’s high voice. “Okay. Shush. You’re not in trouble.”

“But Obi-wan!”

“You’re not in trouble,” he repeated. “Go back to sleep.”

Anakin collapsed back down next to Obi-wan, curling up. “I’m just sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I think you saved me, actually.” Obi-wan closed his eyes again, but lay his arm over Anakin’s chest. “I wasn’t strong enough until I felt you. No worries, Anakin. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep.” Anakin muttered. “It hurts too much.”

“Then just close your eyes.”

“You sound like Mom.”

Obi-wan opened his eyes again, but Anakin had settled somewhat. He swallowed hard against the guilt that bubbled up in his belly, suddenly wanting a drink. (Hell, the strong Mandalorian liquor in Qui-gon’s kitchen would probably cut through the headache too.) It wasn’t as though it was Obi-wan’s fault. He hadn’t been the one to take Anakin from Tatooine.

And anyways, it was a good thing- Tatooine was no place for a child to be raised, and Obi-wan certainly did not hold with slavery.

But it still meant that Anakin had been suddenly separated from his mother, with no real hope of seeing her again-

“Stop it,” Anakin muttered.

Obi-wan blinked. “Stop what?” He asked, and a moment later he realized with a panicked gasp. Anakin could read his mind easily as though Obi-wan were speaking his thoughts aloud. “You burnt out my shields,” he said.

“Sorry,” Anakin muttered, flinching at the louder tone. “I didn’t mean to.”

Of course the boy could just read his mind now. Anybody could just read his mind now. Every little surface thought was clear, and if someone wanted to deeper, well what was stopping them?

But when he tried to grab the Force, tried to start to fix it, the pain brought tears to his eyes, made him gag.

He huffed, frustrated with himself, frustrated with the situation, thoughts still lingering on Anakin’s mother whom he had never met.

“Stop it,” Anakin said again. “Stop feeling bad for me!”

And that was such a simplified descriptor for what Obi-wan felt that he could have laughed. He half hugged Anakin tighter to himself-

It feels natural to hold him. When the kriff did that happen? I don’t touch people Ugh, people- blast, my head hurts. No- focus. Focus. You have to talk to him. I’m so fucking aware right now. Every single thought. I need a drink. Force, is that what my voice in my head sounds like. Wait stop kriff, focus!

“I don’t feel bad for you,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you. Your world has changed, Anakin, and you’ve dealt with it brilliantly.”

What the fuck. That sounded so stupid. Kenobi. You sound like an idiot he’s not gonna fall for that. Of course you fucking pity him. No! it’s not pity. It’s like- I don’t know. I don’t even know. My head hurts. Hah, remember last time couldn’t even feel the headache past Satine. Satine. No no no focus! Focus! No attachments no attachments no attachments but you’re kriffing hugging this kid right now just get up go get a cup of tea or something you need to FOCUS

“I don’t pity you,” he added, squeezing Anakin’s arm. “Promise.”

Anakin pushed himself up and studied him. But he was as burnt out as Obi-wan, so there was no real mind reading- just a light pressure in his head. Anakin was forced to rely only on Obi-wan’s expression.

Obi-wan reached out and cupped Anakin’s cheek. “Promise,” he repeated, keeping his voice low and steady.

That seemed to satisfy the boy, and he sank back down into the pillow. “Sleep, Padawan,” Obi-wan urged. “It will make you feel better.”

Or just skip time to when you’re better. Kriff. My head. Ow. How was he so strong- how?? -guess he’s bright. So bright. I’m hungry. Wait, am I actually- yeah I think I am. Is he going to sleep- yes. Stop focusing on your thoughts. Kriffing hells Kenobi, nobody’s in your head right now stop listening to your own monologue you’re so annoying. I’m so annoying. How do Qui-gon and Satine stand me do I sound like this when I talk? No shut up, you’re just caught in your head, just- yeah he’s asleep- just go get some tea and focus. Caffeine. Good drug miracle drug better than bacta.

He pulled his arm from under Anakin’s body, lowering his head gently to the pillow. When Anakin didn’t stir, he swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed, wincing. If he didn’t try to touch the Force, the pounding dulled to a normal, easy level.

They’d dressed him in a gown and pajama pants.

Stole my clothes but didn’t wash my hair ew it’s so gritty what the kriff gross is that dried blood? I’m just gonna chop it off again no wait I like it long ugh I need a shower no stop focusing on your thoughts! Stop it. Stop it, Kenobi! Focus. Tea.

He got up too fast and black spots popped in his vision. He waited for them to fade before heading to the tiny ‘fresher. What he really wanted was a boiling cup of tea, white with cream and sweetened to the point of Qui-gon making fun of him, to drink while he took a long, hot shower.

But that wasn’t an option in the Halls of Healing, so he settled on washing the worst of the grit out of his hair in the tiny sink.

Steal my clothes but don’t wash my hair kriffing bastards I hate the Halls I hate the Healers what the fuck ew the blood is old it’s probably rotting ew that color in the white sink old blood rotting blood gross ew remember when we found that body the smell ew Qui-gon gagging and he’s never affected by smells- what mission was that? Can’t remember.

He stepped out of the ‘fresher to find that Qui-gon stepping into the room. “Ah, you’re awake,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Alive,” Obi-wan said.

Your shields are down he can read your thoughts he knows you fucked Satine- ew no that’s a TERRIBLE way to say it, it wasn’t like that at ALL- fucking Satine- stop stop stop Kenobi you stupid kriffing bastard if anything it was making love- FUCK that sounds like an old person what the hell stop focus he’s probably reading your mind kriffing hells

“That’s good,” Qui-gon said, and nodded down at Anakin. “How is he?”

“He woke up for a few minutes, but it didn’t last long.” Obi-wan picked up his cloak and shrugged it on over the hospital gown, tugging the sleeves down over his hands. “I was going to get a cup of tea.”

Or breakfast. Breakfast sounds good. Kriff I’m so hungry. How long was I out? Wait hells actually how long was I out? What’s the date? Ask him ask him ask him no- he’ll be worried, you should know the date you should have checked first or sensed time passing or but I’m so hungry it must have been a while- no shut UP Kenobi! Focus. Focus, I am one with the Force the Force is with m- FUCK the Force hurts-

“I’ll join you,” Qui-gon said, inclining his head. “I could use a cup myself. It’s been a long two days waiting for you both to wake.”

Two days two days kriff that’s a long time no wonder I’m hungry, the healers are going to yell at me for losing weight again. Hell, what, they could have IV’d me food if they were worried. Wait, can healers do that? They must be able to. For coma patients? Ugh why is your voice so LOUD Kenobi, I bet everyone in the Halls are listening to your inane mental chatter

He inclined his head to Qui-gon and started down the hall. There was a little break room on this floor, meant for staff. But Obi-wan and Qui-gon had spent enough time here that they knew where the staff rooms were, and neither had qualms about drinking the healers’ tea.

“The Council will want to speak with you,” Qui-gon said as he filled the kettle with water. “Not right now, but when you’re feeling up to it.”

FUCK the FUCKing Council- Qui-gon is polite and won’t read my mind but kriffing Yoda will- fuck fuck fuck kriff fuck no I need my shields tell Qui-gon you need shields no kriff my head hurts I need a drink youre drinking tea stop being an alcoholic well I kriffing want- no! No no no control your fucking thoughts Kenobi you kriffing idiot piece of shab you can’t even control your own brain how can you talk to the Council they’ll kick you out they’ll kick Anakin out you’ll have to adopt him be his father what the FUCK you’re not father material maybe his mother will adopt you we can be brothers oh kriff Yoda will know how pathetic you are you kriffing farmboy Jedi dropout-

“Of course,” he said, picking up two flimsi-cups and pawing through the tea bags. But the names of the teas weren’t sticking- he had to read each bag twice or three times before he could actually consider his options.

“Padawan?” Qui-gon touched his arm. “Focus. Take a breath. They won’t talk to you right this moment.”

Fuck he knows you’re panicking he always knows kriff focus focus focus what are you doing why can’t you just be normal kriff my head hurts I need a- stop stop stop your a kriffing Jedi stop thinking about alcohol you need food tea normal be normal stop freaking out stop stop focus one with the Force the Force is with ow ow ow ow no not that trick Um kriff my hands are shaking five things you can see okay focus ground yourself the kettle the table the tea bags Qui-gon your own shaking kriffing shaking hands you look like some junkie in withdrawal it’s FINE you’re just hungry four things you can smell no wait that’s not the order four things you can taste? Feel? Blast Kenobi the order doesn’t matter!

“Obi-wan?” Qui-gon asked. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said, with a little smile towards Qui-gon. “My head just hurts, but that will clear on its own in time.”

“Your tea will help with that,” he said, reaching over to pick one of the bags of black tea for Obi-wan. It was a type with more caffeine.

Bless him bless him he knows me just let him make it he’s right caffeine is good it’ll get rid of some of the headache I blame Satine’s caf oh Satine kriff I miss you- the Council will know blast it the Council will know my head hurts what kind of Jedi are you Kenobi hands are shaking they won’t stop shaking you can see through my sleeves my hands are always shaking

He tucked his hands deeper into his sleeves and let Qui-gon handle the tea, sinking down into one of the chairs at the little staff table. He tried to focus, tried to cool his pounding skull by listening to the pouring water, focusing on the smell of tea drifting through the room. Qui-gon mixed cream and sugar into Obi-wan’s cup- it was only the mass-produced little cups of creamer that didn’t have to be refrigerated and always seemed to coat his tongue, but Obi-wan appreciated it anyways.

A moment later, Qui-gon set two mugs of tea on the table, and dropped a protein bar in front of Obi-wan. Obi-wan didn’t even argue- he just ripped it open and took a large bite, barely tasting it by how quickly he ate it.

“A little better?” Qui-gon asked when Obi-wan pushed the wrapper aside and took a sip of tea.

No I’m just hungrier now you ate that so fast like a hound Kenobi why are you like this just shut up and drink your tea he made it for you he’s being nice to you even though he likes Anakin more- no he apologized for that shut up you forgave him we’re past this but he still likes Anakin more kriffing obviously, I like Anakin more everyone likes Anakin more except the Council- dammit remember when Yoda liked you? Hah hah not anymore you fucking told that old troll off- NO STOP you like Yoda we like Yoda- we? Kriffing We? Are we calling ourselves We now? What the fuck is the plural oh blast Qui-gon if you’re listening in I’m sorry I’m so sorry you got stuck with us- what the FUCK stop with the weird plural!

Obi-wan took another sip of tea. “He blasted out my shields,” he said, hearing the awkwardness embarrassment in his own voice. “I feel naked.”

Oh look at you being vulnerable like he fucking cares- it’s not vulnerable it’s weak you’re weak at least we’re not thinking in plural anymore- KRIFF

“If it makes you feel better, I promise not to read your mind.” Qui-gon smiled gently across the table and took a sip of his own tea. “But you will heal and rebuild them.” He took a careful breath. “They do not need to be as tight as you had them before.”

Kriff that yes they do you’ll all know I shouldn’t be here I should be planting tubers on Bandomeer oh wait Xanatos would have blown me up fuck kriff hell that would be a shavity way to go hah Kenobi lived through so much just to get blown sky high while planting root vegetables hah that’s kinda funny actually no don’t laugh Qui-gon’s looking at you weird but but but imagine if they got fried by the explosion hah steak and fries I’m the steak oh kriff shut up focus why is this so funny-

“I would appreciate that,” he said, inclining his head and hiding behind another sip of tea. The caffeine did help. The placebo effect of the first few sips soothed the edge of the headache, and he knew it would be better when it truly kicked in. “Anakin did help me,” he added. “I knew he was strong, but I didn’t expect this level of strength.”

“Neither did I,” Qui-gon admitted. “But I am sure there are methods to teach one so powerful. There must be meditations and exercises.”

He doesn’t know because you’re not that powerful. You’re kriffing weak. Your kid-apprentice could possess you like some Force-demon because you can’t control your own brain you kriffing dumbass you couldn’t hold that factory yourself you’re weak Kenobi, you wouldn’t even be able to teach the Force to a tuber plant let alone Anakin-

“I’m sure,” Obi-wan agreed. “I’ll have to visit the Archives. Master Nu could probably point me in the right direction.”

“I’m sure she would be a great help.” Qui-gon wrapped his hands around his own mug of tea. “Are you sure that you’re feeling alright, Padawan? You took a big hit.”

He thinks you’re weak. He knows you’re weak. He kriffing raised you he knows everything. I wanna scream I can’t just sit here look at him being all concerned that you can’t handle it- Anakin was his project and you’re already screwing him up- fuck, Anakin, I’m sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

“I’m fine,” he said, again. “I should probably sleep longer.”

I’ve slept long enough too long I’m so hungry kriff Master I’m sorry you were stuck with me I tried I really tried but I’m so tiredhungrythirsty

Qui-gon studied him for a long moment. Obi-wan felt the barest brush of his master’s mind- shallow enough to only sense feelings without getting deep enough for thoughts, and even that felt overwhelming. He flinched back, flicking his head like he was shaking off a fly.

“I apologize,” Qui-gon said, immediately retreating. “Force of habit.”

Obi-wan grunted and pressed the heel of his palm into his head. “It’s okay,” he said.

“You’re tired,” Qui-gon said, voice falling to a lower tone. “If you’re up and walking around, I think we can convince Vokara to let you return to your own bed.”

Kriff yes please I hate the Halls let me get breakfast and go to back to bed kriff I’ll have to wake Anakin up to move him. But I got him to sleep he’ll be fine but if he wakes up alone I don’t want him to feel deserted but I wake up alone all the time just fine but he’s hurting- see? This is why you need the Jedi, Kenobi, if you can’t even decide this how could you be a father outside the Order- why do you keep thinking like that? You’re not leaving! Stop stop stop you’re not adopting Anakin you’re not leaving the Order but Satine would be such a good mother- STOP Kenobi what’s gotten into you- you’re not even together you think she’d want to have your spawn- focus focus this hurts ow my head ow why do I have a feeling ow ow ow is it bad no not bad ow kriff stop ow future or past I can’t tell ow ow stop stop stop-

“Obi-wan?” Qui-gon asked, moving too fast around the table to grab him by the shoulders, steadying him. “Focus. Breathe, Padawan, don’t faint on me.”

“I’m not gonna faint,” Obi-wan muttered, dropping his head and squeezing his eyes shut against the light.

Qui-gon rubbed slow circles over Obi-wan’s back. “Alright. Breathe.”

Obi-wan dropped his head to Qui-gon’s chest, doing his best to obey, to breathe through the throbbing in his head.

He’s warm he’s blocking the rest of the Temple, blocking the whole Force for me, kriff he knows me bless him I hate that- he knows I’m weak he knows I can’t- I’m so tired. I’m sorry you got stuck with me I’m sorry I’m me, Master, if you’re listening you’re so warm I’m sorry you got stabbed I was so scared so scared so scared- fear leads to the Dark Side- hah, turn to the Dark Side like Xanatos, jump in acid- I need my shields back I feel so naked why am I so aware of my thoughts I hate this, you’re so annoying Kenobi

The sense from the Force wore off and so did the edge of the headache. Obi-wan pulled away, letting out a slow, steadying breath.

“You’re alright?” Qui-gon asked, backing up a step but still holding his hands out, like he was still afraid Obi-wan would keel over.

“I’m hungry,” Obi-wan admitted, and flicked at the wrapper.

Qui-gon sighed, relief obvious through the Force, and squeezed Obi-wan’s shoulder. “Of course you are, you’ve been out for two days. I’ll hunt down some breakfast for you.”

“You don’t-” Obi-wan started, but Qui-gon shot him a withering glare. Obi-wan shut up.

Okay I’ll accept your food but just because I’m too tired to fight you and I’m hungry and my head hurts but I’m not happy about it you old bastard- no I didn’t mean that Master, please don’t be in my head right now, you’re like my father I think but I’m not sure, I don’t remember my actual father, but I hope he was like you, Master- wait kriff no I’m mad at you still, you shouldn’t be walking around waiting on me when you’re still limping

“I’ll meet you back at your room. Do you think Anakin will be awake?”

“Maybe?” Obi-wan picked up his tea to bring it back with him. “I’ll comm you if he wakes again.”

Chapter Text

Giant shoutout to SingSwan_SpringSwan for their fic Blazed but not with weed, more like pain that never goes away. They're awesome and gave my OC Jakka a cameo in chapter 3  

Shmi smiled as she rested her hand on Anakin’s brow. “No fever,” she said. “I think you’re alright to work.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into her hand. “But my head hurts.”

“Sometimes we must work even when we have a headache, Ani.” She ran her hand back through his hair, smoothing it out. “You’re too old to stay home.”

“But it hurts, Mom.” He dropped his head forward to her chest. “Everything’s too loud.”

“I know.” She shifted, wrapping an arm around him. “You’re sensitive, Ani. You shine brighter than anybody I know. But that cannot stop you from doing your work.”

“But Mom.” He grit his teeth and picked his head up, but the light hurt his eyes and he dropped his gaze again. “You don’t understand. It hurts. My head hurts.”

“Watto won’t take that excuse,” Shmi said softly, and stood, stepping away. “Come, Ani. It is time to go to the shop. There are sales to be made and repairs to be done.”

He was cold without her. He shivered, burying his head in his hands against the light. “Fuck Watto,” he said into his hands. “I want to sleep.”

“Anakin!” Her sharp voice sliced through his skull and he almost cried out. “You will not use that sort of language towards him. He has been good to us. Get up.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You must.” Shmi touched his arm, then wrapped her fingers around his bicep. “You cannot show weakness, my Ani. You must get up, pain or no.”

He still resisted, and she pulled him up. He grit his teeth, moaning at the throbbing in his skull. He couldn’t remember why his head hurt. It just hurt, and she didn’t understand. She never understood. She didn’t see the ghosts that roamed the desert nights, didn’t hear the slimy thoughts of the traders, didn’t feel each moment the instant before it happened. She didn’t get it.

And it hurt.

It was so loud. Every sound, every whisper, every thought echoed through his skull.

“Ani,” Shmi said. “Wake up.”

No- he wanted to sleep.

“Anakin.”

It wasn’t his mother- when he looked up, it was Obi-wan.

“Anakin? I sense you’re close to waking. Are you hungry?”

Anakin blinked. No- he wasn’t asleep. He was awake, but he wanted to sleep.

“It hurts,” he muttered, and his own voice woke him. He tugged the blanket higher over his shoulders. “My head.”

“I know,” Obi-wan said, and smoothed his hair back. “Mine too. I blame you, young one.” He chuckled. “We’ll be taking a trip to the Archives to figure out your powers. But all is well. Qui-gon is bringing us breakfast.”

Obi-wan’s hand was cool on his forehead, but it wasn’t his mother’s hand. Her voice still echoed in his head, warm and loving. He wanted her suddenly, wanted her so much that his chest hurt as much as his head.

“Anakin?” Obi-wan smoothed out his hair again. “Are you alright, small one?”

He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t speak, not without his voice breaking. He was not supposed to look back- he was supposed to want to be with the Jedi, not keep thinking about his mother.

But he missed her. He missed her so much.

He shook Obi-wan’s hand away and curled up under the blanket.

“Padawan?” Obi-wan touched his arm. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” he muttered, tangling his fingers in the fabric. “I just miss Mom.”

Obi-wan exhaled a long breath, then dropped his hand to Anakin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Anakin shrugged and pulled the blanket over his head. He could feel all of Obi-wan’s feelings flicking through his mind, too fast for him to catch. But he felt the guilt, the friendship, the sorrow, the fondness, the pity.

Anakin hated pity. He hated pity more than anything. Everybody pitied him. If anybody should be pitied here, it was Obi-wan. Anybody could kriffing read his mind right now. He was like an open book.

Sure, that was Anakin’s fault. But it was easier to focus on than Obi-wan’s karking pity. His chest felt tight. He couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat. He didn’t want breakfast. He just wanted to sleep.

Obi-wan rubbed his shoulder. “I understand,” he said after a minute. “I have lost people too. But the good news is that your mother is alive-”

“She might as well not be,” Anakin muttered into the pillow, closing his eyes against the headache. “If I can’t see her. I can’t even feel her. She’s too far… away…”

His voice cracked, and he was horrified when his eyes burned. Tears- actual tears- he hadn’t cried since he was a dumb little kid. He pulled the blanket up further so Obi-wan wouldn’t see. Mom would have told him not to cry; she would have told him to control himself. Crying was a waste of water. Crying meant the slavers won.

His breath shuddered and he brought his fist to his mouth, biting down on it. His teeth left imprints in his skin.

“It’s okay, Padawan,” Obi-wan said softly. His hand was heavy on Anakin’s shoulder. “I know it hurts. I know. It’s okay.”

That broke him. The sob shook his whole chest. Obi-wan hesitated- Anakin could feel the indecision in his master’s head. Then he lay down beside Anakin, on top of the blankets, and threw an arm over him.

But he wasn’t Anakin’s mother. Even when he turned over to cry into Obi-wan’s chest, it felt wrong. The emptiness in his chest throbbed in time with his headache and even Obi-wan’s calming spirit wasn’t enough. And he felt stupid too, like such a baby, crying because he couldn’t see his mom.

Everyone should have made fun of him. Obi-wan should have pushed him away and told him to be stronger.

But he didn’t. He kriffing didn’t. The karking bastard just rubbed Anakin’s shoulder and held him like they were actually family, instead of a teacher and a student. It wasn’t even like, grief. It wasn’t as though his mom was dead.

But she was absent and it hurt.

And then- it felt like forever but it was probably only a few minutes- he managed to get some control over his breath. He couldn’t call on the Force- that hurt his head too much. But the sobs slowed and the tears stopped blurring his vision so much.

Obi-wan pulled away long enough to fill a little cup with water from the ‘fresher sink, then slid back into the bed beside Anakin. His hand brushed Anakin’s as he handed the cup over.

Anakin swiped furiously at his eyes before drinking the water. The salt burned. His lashes clumped together. “I hate crying,” he muttered, and took a sip.

Obi-wan chuckled and squeezed his shoulder. But Anakin could sense no judgement. Not even pity, anymore. Just a fondness that made him feel warmer even despite the chilly Halls of Healing. “We all do, Padawan.”

Anakin huffed and used the corner of the blanket to dry his face.

“It’s only exhaustion,” Obi-wan said softly. “It will clear on its own. I promise.”

Anakin nodded and leaned against Obi-wan, hoping that Qui-gon would return soon with food. The heaviness from seeing Mom in his dreams remained. But now that he was awake, he realized how hungry he was.

…

“Satine- I saw you called. Sorry, I was-”

“Indisposed. I know. Qui-gon told me.” She smiled over the hologram. The gleam of her headdress made the faded signal flicker even more. You looked a mess on the news footage. It’s good to see you standing.”

“Mostly.” Obi-wan slid down to a sitting position in the private meditation room, setting the comm in front of him.

On the other end, she sat as well. If they angled their comms right, it was as though they were sitting knee to knee. She flickered translucent in front of him, a ghost that set longing afire in his chest.

He knew they should not be talking. He knew he should go cold turkey on her- it would be better for both of them. Healthier.

But he was bad at being healthy, and she was too, apparently, because she drank in his face as much as he did hers.

“What happened?” she asked, smoothing her skirt over her knees. He couldn’t see where she was, but he assumed from her relaxed posture that she was alone. “Qui-gon told me some. It sounded like serious Jetii magic.”

“We aren’t magic,” he said, with a little snort. “The Force isn’t-”

“I don’t want a lecture, Ben.” She leaned forward, one elbow on her knee. “I just want to know that you’re not killing yourself with your strange witchcraft.”

“I’m not a witch!” He kicked at her, but the hologram only flickered around his boot.

She laughed, and his headache faded. The Force was happy here. The shadows faded; the anxiety melted away. He could think around her without the Dark Side tainting his thoughts. The only feeling he had was of rightness.

And that was very bad. But Satine had been the one to call him, and Anakin was asleep, and Qui-gon was off in the gardens again, or whatever he did now to kill time while he healed. This time was Obi-wan’s and Obi-wan’s alone.

“I’m fine,” he said, when she was done laughing at him. “But how are you?”

Her smile faded. She sighed, leaning back against whatever she was leaning on. “Fine, as well,” she said “Running a government is harder, I think, than founding it was. Day in and day out.” She let out a breath, then shook her head. “I’m sorry I’m borrowing your master- he said he was only coming for tea, but I have a few questions for him.”

“You’re what?” Obi-wan straightened. “What are you doing with Qui-gon?”

“He didn’t tell you?” She rolled her eyes. “You two, I swear… I invited him to come back for a visit. Retirement does not suit him, I have decided.”

“Oh, you have decided?” Obi-wan narrowed his eyes. “If you need help, I can-”

“No!”

Obi-wan sat back like he’d been slapped. She shook her head and waved a hand. “No, I mean… ahh, Ben, you know why you cannot come.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

Of course he knew- they were on the same page about this. They had repeatedly reiterated this fact. “You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

She shook her head. A strand of hair fell loose from her headdress. She tucked it back behind her ear, but that knocked a lily loose. She sighed and tilted her head forward, pulling the whole ensemble loose and shaking her hair free. When she set it aside, it vanished from the hologram. Some of the static cleared now that it wasn’t transmitting glitter.

“No trouble. But Qui-gon has experience, and I need an unbiased mind to pick about certain things… taxes, trade routes…” She grit her teeth. “Peace is complicated.”

“That it is,” Obi-wan said. But if anybody was strong enough to force peace onto a warlike people, it was Satine. Her force of will was stronger than anything Obi-wan had ever witnessed. And the Force approved of her peaceful ways- never once had Obi-wan had a bad feeling about her. “But I have faith in you, Satine.”

Her name tasted sweet on his tongue.

She huffed a little breath, but blinked at him from under her lashes. “Thank you, Ben… that means a lot. As friends.”

“As friends,” he reiterated.

“How is little Anakin?” She asked before their awkward mutual friend-zoning could linger. “If his trick left you unconscious, it must have hurt him as well?”

Obi-wan nodded, running a hand through his hair. “He’s well… he has a headache and misses his mother. I…” he glanced upwards, then back to her. “I never knew my mother. None of us did here. I…” He grimaced. “What do I say to that? I feel useless.”

Satine blinked, silent for a long minute. “How did she die?” She finally asked, blunt as any Mandalorian.

Obi-wan shook his head. “No, no- I’m sorry. She’s alive. She remains on Tatooine. A slave…” He dropped his head back against the wall. “I hate this galaxy,” he said, rubbing his hands down his face.

“A slave?” She jolted forward, up to her knees. The hologram cut the top of her head for a moment, flickering, until she settled back into the range. “What do you mean a slave?”

Obi-wan sank lower against the wall, feeling her eyes on him even through the hologram. “He… Qui-gon found him on Tatooine. His midichlorian count was so high that he thought Anakin should be trained, but…” He waved a hand. “The situation changed, so I am training him.”

“So his mother remains enslaved?” Satine’s eyes narrowed. “Obi-wan, how can you stand for that?”

“Not well, apparently.” Obi-wan tucked his hands into his opposite sleeves. “There’s…”

“There are no slaves on Mandalore,” she said, leaning forward, fingers clenched tight over her knees. “A world does not need slavery to function.”

“I’m not condoning it!” Obi-wan shot a glare at her. “I hate it as much as anybody. You know that.”

She huffed, but sat back on her heels. “I do. Yes. I know, Ben.” She sighed. “But I understand Anakin’s distress. Where on Tatooine is she?”

“Mos Espa,” Obi-wan said, before he realized how loaded the question was. “Satine- no. It’s Hutt territory. You cannot risk your entire people for one-”

Satine’s eyes narrowed, and Obi-wan fell silent.

“What is her name, Ben?”

Obi-wan opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Skywalker, yes? I can work with that.”

“Satine.” Obi-wan shook his head. “I can’t let you risk-”

“Stay out of my affairs, Ben,” Satine said flatly.

“Satine-”

“Obi-wan- you said yourself that you did not know your family. So do not presume to have any authority with this.” She settled back, now that she had gotten her way, and crossed her legs. “It pains me that you did not know your mother, but trust me when I say it is an important relationship. A child should know their mother. Their father too- a child should have family.” She looked away, blinking a few times.

Obi-wan wanted to draw her into his arms, but could not. He knew how the deaths of her parents weighed on her. “Satine…” he said instead, clenching his fists to keep himself from reaching out to her flickering image.

She pressed her lips together in a thin line and shook her head. “I’m sorry. This is important to me. My…”

“I know. You don’t have to explain.” Obi-wan exhaled slowly. “Just be careful.”

“I will. And you too. I don’t want to keep seeing you on the news like that.”

“I’m supposed to be grounded right now.” He smiled, let out a little amused breath. “That mission was a surprise.”

“Good. Stay grounded then.” She studied him for a long moment.

He tilted his head, drinking her in as well. She was so beautiful, even through the flicker of hologram. He wanted to reach out for her, to run his fingers through her pale hair, to feel the weight of her lying against his chest. He missed her touch, her laugh, the way her eyes glittered with the fire of her passion.

He didn’t tell her that. He didn’t tell her how his chest ached to see her this way, separated by the distance of space. He didn’t say that his throat closed with the strength of his emotion. She had called to check that he was okay- she cared, even if they both knew they shouldn’t.

And a tiny, pathetic piece of him celebrated. If she really did find Anakin’s mother, then he would take Anakin to see her- of course. If Anakin could see that his mother was safe and okay, then he could release his feelings towards her and focus on his training. But taking him to see her would also mean seeing Satine.

“Thank you for calling me back,” she finally said. “I should sleep. My meetings are double booked tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Obi-wan inclined his head. “Sleep well.”

“You as well.” Satine smiled, but her eyes were still dark with their conversation. “Good night, Ben.”

She hung up before they could dance around awkward goodbyes. Obi-wan dropped his head to his hands, breathing slow and deep. With his weakened shields, Qui-gon would certainly know that he had spoken with Satine.

But he didn’t care. They weren’t together, and if Qui-gon was giving into their friendship, then Obi-wan was going to as well. There was no rule in the Code about having friends outside the Jedi.

…

Qui-gon stood in the center of the little padawan room, arms crossed. Obi-wan’s things were in boxes but still had not been moved, and Qui-gon was on the verge of simply calling one of Obi-wan’s friends and paying them to move the things instead. Garen, perhaps- he was in the Temple studying and preparing for his coming Trials. A break from his preparations would probably do him good.

The desk had been pushed aside to get at the charging stations plugged in behind it. There was still a hole in the wall from where Xanatos had kicked through the plaster in a fit of anger. It had been hidden since Xanatos was twelve, and only now revealed.

And now that he looked, there were other momentos of Xanatos- a faded stain on the ceiling, where a chemistry experiment had gone wrong. Old initials carved into the side of the dresser. Scrapes on the floor from the furniture being in different places.

But those little signs were faded with age, and they encroached on Obi-wan’s space. For this was truly Obi-wan’s territory- his sheets were on the bed. His spare cloak was flipped over the chair. The desk was full of his old school things, abandoned now that he was beyond classes.

It would feel empty now that he was gone, though he was only moving one floor away.

Qui-gon thought about the tooka kits again. He didn’t plan on getting one to fill the space left by his apprentice, but he knew it would only take one moment of lonely weakness.

The front door of the apartment opened. Obi-wan walked in, and didn’t even have time to take off his cloak before Qui-gon caught him. “Your things are still here.”

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been busy, Master. Two days being unconscious and another day of Master Che holding you hostage means much to catch up on.”

But the words were loaded. The Force was heavy in Obi-wan’s presence, and Qui-gon sighed. “You spoke with Satine.”

Obi-wan winced. “No,” he lied, and pushed towards his room.

Qui-gon sighed again. “I was going to make tea,” he said slowly. “Did you want some?”

Obi-wan froze in the doorway, then turned back. His eyes were searching, flicking across Qui-gon’s face. Qui-gon lowered his own shields over their bond, letting himself be as open as Obi-wan unwillingly was. He was not angry with the boy. Obi-wan was old enough to make his own decisions, and Qui-gon certainly was not the best example.

He still missed Tahl.

The nod was almost imperceptible, and Obi-wan disappeared into his room. But he didn’t stay- he only picked up a box and moved it next to the living room door, then returned for another.

“My new quarters are terrible,” he said conversationally.

Qui-gon filled the kettle with water.

“There’s not even a kitchen,” Obi-wan grumbled, his voice deceptively casual over the maelstrom of his mind. “And the ‘fresher is so small that your knees touch the opposite wall.”

Qui-gon thought of Obi-wan’s long, luxurious showers whenever they got back from a mission. He turned towards the kettle so Obi-wan wouldn’t see his amused smile, but inwardly he planned on keeping his old padawan’s shampoo stocked in his larger shower.

“Perhaps when you are a master, they will give you nicer quarters,” Qui-gon said. “Training Anakin will be your quickest route to a promotion.”

Obi-wan grunted. Qui-gon heard him slowly moving boxes from the bedroom to the living room.

“How was the Duchess?” he asked as he reached up and selected a tea.

A box crunched as Obi-wan dropped it on the pile. He stood silently for a moment. Qui-gon took two mugs down and turned around.

Obi-wan stood for a minute, hands still on the edge of the box. A mess of cloaks and tunics were tangled within it, with a shampoo bottle and face wash sitting on top. “Fine,” he said. He hesitated. “You’ve been in contact with her as well.”

Qui-gon let out a breath, waiting to see if there was any aggression in Obi-wan’s signature. But there was none- only questioning and a certain intense focus that Qui-gon had learned to associate with Obi-wan’s romantic endeavors. It had been there with Siri, years ago, and echoed with a few girls over the years, but it was magnified with Satine.

“I answered your comm when you were… mostly unconscious. And we have spoken a few times.” Qui-gon poured hot water into the mugs. “It was not so much a secret as-”

“I get it. It’s fine, Master.”

But it wasn’t fine. Obi-wan wasn’t mad at him, clearly, but he also wasn’t happy. He hesitated. “If… she’s letting you see her, keep an eye on her. Please.”

Qui-gon blinked. “Obi-wan?”

Obi-wan’s signature was a flicker of emotion, rising up and down as he slowly folded the flaps of the box shut. His fingers trailed across the edges of the cardboard. “She… found out about Anakin’s past. Or pulled it out of me.” His eyes flicked to the side, not meeting Qui-gon’s. “I know it was not a secret, but she was interested in Anakin’s mother.”

Qui-gon let out a breath. It did not surprise him, but… “The Hutts are dangerous. She should not involve herself in-”

“I told her that, but-”

“-she is stubborn, I know.” Qui-gon added tea to the pot and shook his head. “Focus on Anakin, Padawan. I will check in on her when I visit.”

He felt the relief more than he saw it. Obi-wan’s signature smoothed over; some of his anxiety drifted away into the Force even as the fragrant steam rose from the tea.

Obi-wan trusted him to watch out for Satine.

The thought took a moment to solidify, and then Qui-gon’s chest warmed with the realization. “Don’t worry.” He said, as he poured the tea into two mugs. “I care for her as well.”

He added milk and sugar to Obi-wan’s cup, then carried them both to the table.

Obi-wan took his and sipped it gratefully. It clinked as he set it down on the table, though his fingers were still wrapped around it. “We are over,” he said, fingers white-knuckled around the mug. “I swear.”

Qui-gon nodded. “I know.”

Obi-wan’s jaw tightened and he looked away. “We are just friends.”

“I know,” Qui-gon said again. He took a sip of his own tea and waited for Obi-wan to sort out his own thoughts. He would not read his padawan’s mind- at least not on purpose, though some of Obi-wan’s longing was obvious.

Obi-wan sucked in a breath, then took a sip of tea, then set it down and wrapped his arms around himself.

“The Force feels right when I talk to her,” he said, almost too softly to hear. He swallowed hard, then picked up his mug again.

“I know, Obi-wan.” Qui-gon let out a breath.

They had come to another crossroads- he could have let the moment pass. It would have been fine- Obi-wan was not asking for advice, after all. But they also weren’t guaranteed the future- not now that Obi-wan was a knight. Dooku had certainly never offered Qui-gon anything after Qui-gon was knighted.

But Qui-gon was not Yan Dooku, and Obi-wan was not Qui-gon.

“It felt right when I was with Tahl,” he offered, though the words threatened to stick in his throat. His own tea swirled dark in his cup. The steam curled as it rose. “It is not wrong to feel that way, I don’t think.”

Obi-wan’s attention locked onto him like a sniper rifle.

Qui-gon took a sip of his own tea to bolster himself before he met Obi-wan’s eyes. “I cannot tell you what to do about these feelings,” he said. “Just a friend or not,” he added hastily. “But, whatever you ultimately choose… I see you as my own, Obi-wan. You have my support.”

Obi-wan was quiet for a long moment, fingers wrapped tight around his mug. “I miss Tahl too,” he said.

And then he added, with a little quirk at his lips, “She would have told you to go to Mandalore too, I think. She would have gotten sick of you sitting around here.”

Qui-gon blinked. Then he snorted, despite himself. “If she could see me now, she would be laughing,” he said. “Finish your tea and pack your things, Padawan. Anakin needs his own room, and you need to find your place as a knight without living in my shadow.”

“You’re so tall, it’s hard to avoid your shadow,” Obi-wan said over his mug.

Qui-gon kicked him under the table.

…

Anakin knew that Obi-wan hated their new quarters- he grumbled about how small they were and barely unpacked his boxes, but he had finally moved. They were in their new place, and Anakin had his own room for the first time ever and he fell back on his new bed and stared up at the ceiling.

This was his place. It was tiny- a bed and a desk, and the door hit the corner of the desk when it opened. But his bag was on his floor. Obi-wan had said the room was Anakin’s to do as he would with. So first he unpacked his Jedi uniforms and hung them up. He had kept the book he’d bought for Obi-wan hidden at the bottom of his tunics, having decided to give it to Obi-wan on his birthday (since Obi-wan actually had a birthday. Anakin wondered vaguely what it was like to actually know where and when you were born.) Now he hid the book under his bed, along with his bag from Tatooine.

He didn’t have much from Tatooine- a few japor snippets from Mom and his best friends, a piece of Threepio, a piece of his podracer. There wasn’t much he wanted to save from Tatooine, but these things, small as they were, were a piece of home. If he touched the metal piece from the engine, he imagined he could feel the heat of the twin suns.

Coruscant was cold. This new apartment was cold.

When he opened the door, he saw Obi-wan opening a bottle of wine at the tiny counter that passed for a kitchen. He paused, hand still wrapped around the opener, and turned towards Anakin. “How do you like it? I know it’s small- I’m sorry I’m a knight and not a mast-”

“It’s perfect,” Anakin said, shaking his head. “I love it.”

“Oh. Good.” Obi-wan smiled and turned back to working the cork out of his bottle. “I suppose it will have to work then.” He poured a glass for himself and set it aside, then leaned against the counter. “How was class today?”

Anakin grimaced. “They gave me so much homework because I missed those days. And I couldn’t even meditate. My head hurt too much. It stopped when I stopped trying, but…”

“That’s alright.” Obi-wan nodded. “I’m sure your teacher understood. But I meant it about looking in the Archives. Your power is… not surprising, but certainly more than I expected.”

Anakin perched on the arm of the old, sagging couch that came with their new quarters. “I still don’t remember it,” he said, drawing his knees up. It bothered him, a blank spot in his memories, and his thoughts kept worrying at it like his tongue to a loose tooth. “Is that bad?”

“I don’t think so.” Obi-wan picked up his wine and took a sip, then wrinkled his nose and set it aside. “If I had to take a guess, I would say that you used too much power even for you and blacked out. I wouldn’t worry too much about that. But I do think a good goal for you would be more control so that doesn’t happen again. I don’t want you hurting yourself by reaching too high too fast.”

Before Anakin could even ask how to even start learning to control his powers, Obi-wan smiled. “I’ll help you.”

“Okay.” Anakin said, though he wasn’t really sure. How did one even control the Force? It felt like it did what it wanted, when it wanted. Anakin had never even thought about actually bending it to his own will.

Obi-wan studied him for a moment, then picked up his wine and moved to the couch. “How about we start on some of that homework?” he offered. “I don’t want you to get too behind.”

Anakin grimaced, but nodded and went to get his bookbag before sliding down on the couch next to Obi-wan. “I bet Qui-gon misses us,” he said as he flipped open his notebooks.

“Well, he’ll see us soon,” Obi-wan said, and smirked over his glass. “I have no food stocked here, and he actually has a fridge. We’ll head back there for dinner. Let’s get through a solid hour of work first though.”

…

The next morning, Obi-wan wasn’t quite sure what the morning summons to the Council was for. But he was pleasantly surprised to find Bant sitting in the vestibule as well. She sat cross-legged on one of the benches, eyes closed. Obi-wan sat beside her, feeling the eyes of the Temple Guard following him through their mask.

“Do you have any idea what this is for?” He asked her, keeping his voice low as to not startle her from her meditation.

She opened one big, gleaming eye, then closed it again. “I would assume our shared mission,” she said, hands still resting peacefully on her knees. “You look tired.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” he said. “My new place isn't nearly as comfortable as my room at Qui-gon’s. The mattress doesn’t contour to me properly.”

Bant let out a little breath, then opened her eyes and abandoned her meditation. “I haven’t seen your new place yet.”

“I just moved. I’d throw a housewarming party, except my things are still in boxes. Next week, perhaps.”

“And then Garen’s knighting the week after.” Bant nodded, eyes flicking to the side as she filed away the timeline in her head. “Send me the details.”

“Kriff. I’m supposed to plan that.” Obi-wan shook his head. “I haven't had time.”

“You still have two weeks.” She smiled, then ducked her head. “Just don’t invite Tiplee. She and Reeft are like angry tookas.”

“Noted,” Obi-wan said, but he was inwardly pleased that Bant had solved one of his problems.

Bant tilted her head. “How are you feeling after Anakin’s…?”

Obi-wan shook his head. “Fine. It’s mostly faded.”

It was a lie. His head ached when he worked on rebuilding his shields, and they still weren’t nearly on a level that he was comfortable with. He hoped he would be able to hide behind Bant during this meeting with the Council. He didn’t want Master Yoda peering into his mind.

The reason he had not slept was not the new mattress (though the imprint of the last Jedi who’d lived there didn’t help him any). Rather, it was the dreams that had plagued him. They’d been touched by the Force, and that brought his headache back with increasing intensity, which had only made the dreams more disjointed. He woke several times, shaky and unsure of where he was.

There were too many scenes to remember them all, and most were flashes with little context. He recognized some people- Qui-gon and Anakin mostly, and a few flickers of Yoda. Satine, for a brief, moment that left him aching with loneliness when he awoke. But there were strangers as well- a Togruta girl with an easy smile; a human boy with reddish-blond hair and bright blue eyes that fixed on Obi-wan with burning intensity. And another man, his face repeated over and over in different people, in different places, wearing scuffed up white armor. There was blood and screams and battle- fear and confusion and the shroud of the Dark Side. Obi-wan felt sick when he finally woke for real.

He had wanted time to meditate on his dreams. At the very least, he wanted to sort out what had been sent by the Force from what came from his own healing brain.

But there had been an early summons from the Council, and he had barely had time to wish Anakin a good day in classes before racing off.

The guard opened the door before Bant could call Obi-wan out on his bantha-shit. Thankfully, it was not the full Council. Only Master Yoda, Master Windu, and Master Koon attended. The room felt less heavy with only three of the twelve in attendance. Obi-wan let out a breath as he stepped forward.

“Knight Kenobi. Padawan Eerin,” Windu said, inclining his head. “Thank you for coming this early. I trust you have both sufficiently recovered from Skywalker’s burnout?”

Bant inclined her head. Obi-wan nodded and hoped that none of them could sense his thoughts behind his shields. Yoda’s green eyes were fixed on him, burning through him. He wondered if Yoda had considered his visions on Ilum yet- the handprint had faded, but the memory of the masked spirit remained vivid.

Perhaps the masked spirit knew of the boy or girl or man from his dreams.

The thought hit Obi-wan like a runaway speeder, and all eyes flicked to him- Bant’s included. He exhaled slowly, calming his thoughts, and vowed to meditate on that later.

“The reason we have called you,” Koon said, “is that the Chancellor has requested an audience the Jedi who helped in the rescue. We have chosen you two to represent the Order.”

Obi-wan’s jaw almost dropped, but he kept a straight face.

Again. Kriffing again. First they had used his knighting as an advertisement for the Chancellor, and now he was supposed to go shake the man’s hand after helping to save some children?

Bant had started to bow to the Council, but she turned sharply towards Obi-wan. “Control yourself,” she hissed.

Obi-wan smiled sweetly and inclined his head. “I would be honored to accompany Padawan Eerin on this mission,” he said, though he knew that everybody had sensed his disgust.

“The man’s a motherfucking politician, Kenobi,” Windu said, crossing his arms. “Unfortunately, we need to be friends with him, and he likes you. Go play nice. Shake his hand and smile for the cameras. And for fuck’s sake, don’t let him feel how much you hate him.”

Obi-wan nodded and did his best to look chagrinned. But he still felt Yoda’s eyes boring into him.

“You’ve done well, Padawan Eerin,” Koon said. “You did not hear it from us, but it may be wise to start meditating on your place as a knight. Open the discussion with your master, when you both get a moment.”

Obi-wan felt Bant’s tidal wave of excitement sweep through his own mind and blank out his thoughts for a single exhilarating moment. He was a little disappointed when her feelings vanished and he was back in his own mind.

“They will probably try to interview you when you see the Chancellor,” Windu said, when Bant had contained herself. “Obviously, you must watch how you answer. Keep your responses short, and offer no information they did not ask for. You will be there as a public face for the Jedi Order- not to start a PR crisis. Understood?”

Bant and Obi-wan both nodded. They had both done events like this before. They had both been coached in the past. Both had mastered the Jedi art of a subtle smile and a murmur of “the will of the Force” before changing the subject.

But just because he was good at being a poster boy didn’t mean Obi-wan wanted to be. The idea of all the cameras made his skin crawl, especially with his shields still weakened as they were. If this was how Satine felt all the time, always in the limelight, then he did not envy her.

…

Obi-wan lingered in the hall, waiting for Anakin’s last class of the day to let out. He could sense Anakin’s frustration and fatigue- neither of them were fully recovered, but they were certainly well enough to go back to routine.

He didn’t want Anakin to fall behind in his schoolwork so soon. Obi-wan had spent most of his own school days behind- Qui-gon’s very active mission schedule meant that much of his own education had been distant learning, recorded lectures and holographic meetings with the teachers. He was close enough in age to his classes for that frustration to still be fresh.

And he knew from experience that a few days off made the backlog of homework and notes unbearable. That had been difficult enough for Obi-wan, born and raised in the Temple, with friends to beg notes off. Anakin didn’t have that background- he had Obi-wan, and whatever friends he had made in his short time in the Temple. At the moment, that seemed to be the little Twi’lek initiate Jakka, and occasionally Quinlan’s Aayla.

Obi-wan kept his distance- he didn’t want to scare the two girls away with a knight’s attention. But he was grateful to them.

He felt the teacher dismiss the class even before he heard the clasps of book bags or the grinding of desks and chairs moving. He moved tighter to the wall as Initiates spilled out of the room- he felt heavy attention from a few of them, their eyes lingering, wondering-

-Sith Slayer’s taken but he has friends maybe one of them wants a padawan-

Obi-wan couldn’t tell whose thought he had picked up on, but he tightened his shields, new and unformed and vulnerable as they were, and kept his expression neutral. Whichever initiate had thought it needed to work on keeping their own thoughts in their own skull. But whatever initiate thought it also had a lot of raw talent with telepathy, if Obi-wan was picking up actual words without a bond with them.

The class cleared out, but Anakin was nowhere to be seen. With a sinking feeling, Obi-wan caught the classroom door as the last initiate cleared out.

Anakin sat in the front row of desks, feeling supremely peeved though his expression was blank, and Knight Asa Lee stood in the front, leaning against the desk.

Meeting with Shaak about Anakin had been easy- Anakin picked up on lightsaber skills with a simple joy, and Obi-wan was already friends with Shaak. But Obi-wan hadn’t actually seen Asa since he had been in class with her. They had not gotten along- Obi-wan was gone so much that he existed outside the Temple padawan pecking order, and Asa didn’t like that. But she wasn’t nearly as much of a bully as Bruck had been, and Obi-wan had dealt with far worse than snide remarks from a girl in class. He had forgotten her as soon as he wasn’t her classmate.

But now she was Anakin’s math teacher. A pity- Obi-wan’s own math teacher had been a retired Jedi who regaled them with tales of her wild mission days between lessons and threw parties on every holiday, baking too much food for the class and putting on old holoflicks. She had since passed on, taken into the Force by her own great age. Asa was a poor replacement.

“Hi, Obi-wan,” Anakin muttered.

Obi-wan strode forward, squeezing Anakin’s shoulder as he passed. “Knight Lee,” he said, inclining his head.

“Knight Kenobi,” she replied, with a stiff bow of her own. “Have a seat.”

She was taller than Obi-wan even without her montrals, and she gestured to one of the children’s desks. She would have towered over him sitting in the chair- he sat on the desk instead and crossed one leg over the other.

She sniffed at that, but let it slide.

“I was going to comm you,” she said, “so it’s convenient that you showed up today. Are you aware that Anakin has missed several days of classes?”

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow. “I am,” he said. “Considering that he was with me.”

“Ah.” She glanced towards Anakin and back to Obi-wan. “It is not uncommon for students to make excuses for these absences. I had to confirm.”

“I’m not a liar,” Anakin muttered. Obi-wan felt his irritation deepen, and brushed against their bond. Be calm, Padawan, he thought, though he knew Anakin wouldn’t hear the words themselves. The feeling would be enough.

“I assume you have the back work from those days.” Obi-wan said, nodding at the work on the board. “I will of course help Anakin with catching up.”

Asa sighed deeply and sat on her own desk. “Unfortunately, it is not simply a matter of catching up after a four day absence. It is a matter of catching up after being absent his entire life. He is behind in not only his math skills, but his reading and writing as well. And you are aware that Basic is not his first language?”

“I speak five languages,” Anakin interrupted. “Six if you count binary- who cares what order I learned-”

“Peace, Padawan,” Obi-wan murmured.

Anakin shut up, but his eyes gleamed with frustration.

“Anakin has been working very hard on catching up,” Obi-wan said, fixing his eyes on Asa. “He is very intelligent, and learns quickly. And I rather think that his background will make him stronger in the field. Do not concern yourself with topics outside of Algebra.” He smiled gently at her, like he was assuaging her worries.

But he knew that she knew that he had just told her off. She smiled her sharp-toothed Togruta smile, but her eyes were hard.

“What specifically do you need me to help him with?” Obi-wan asked. He glanced over at Anakin. “I was under the impression that he was quite good at math. Better than I was, at the very least.”

“He received a B on his first test,” she said. “But what concerns me is that he views the course through the filter of his Huttese teachings. Their view of numbers-”

“It’s all numbers,” Anakin interrupted, tensing in the chair. “I told you. Why does it matter how I get the answer if it’s right?” He turned to Obi-wan. “It’s stupid how they do it here. It’s faster my way.”

“The way we teach here is the foundation for the higher level courses,” Asa said. “His ways may get him through my class, but they will hinder him in higher level classes. We operate on a base ten system here-”

“That’s just how many fingers you have,” Anakin snapped. “Why’s it matter? Look-” He put one finger down on each hand. “What if I cut off two fingers? Then will you let me count normal?”

“You are not a Hutt,” she replied simply. “Our mathematics are different, and if you are to be successful, you must have a base of our knowledge.”

Anakin grit his teeth, but glanced at Obi-wan and held his tongue. Asa looked to him too, one eyebrow raised. Obi-wan felt the challenge drifting in the Force- was he going to let his padawan talk back to a teacher in this way?

“What exactly must he work on?” Obi-wan asked, instead of chastising either of them. “I would be happy to go over his work with him. That’s why I’m here.”

Asa sniffed, then turned to the desk. “I have his back work here. It’s due by next Primeday.”

“Fine.” Obi-wan stood and held out a hand for the datastick. She handed it over, then drew back. “Anakin,” she said. “I need a moment alone with your master.”

Anakin’s eyes widened. He glanced frantically between them. “Why? What’re you gonna say?”

“It’s alright, Anakin.” Obi-wan offered a little smile to him. “Give us a moment. I’ll meet you in the hall.”

In truth, it was not fine. Obi-wan could feel the headache coming back, though this had nothing to do with Force exhaustion and everything to do with lack of sleep and Asa’s pressing against his weak new shields. But he smiled politely.

“I have concerns,” Asa said when the door closed behind Anakin. “Your… padawan is not like the other students.”

“I should think not,” Obi-wan said, sitting back against the desk.

“He is defensive and gets frustrated easily,” Asa said. “He is highstrung, and, to be frank, I don’t see him being successful as a Jedi.”

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow. “Much of the same was said about me.”

Asa crossed her arms. She looked regal with her montrals and striking colors, but Obi-wan wondered absently when the last time had been that she was outside the Temple. “Just because you killed a Sith does not mean you are a master. Your attachment to this boy is blinding you to his nature. I don’t want to see him struggle if he cannot make it here.”

“Thank you for your concerns,” Obi-wan said, inclining his head. “But Master Yoda himself has approved Anakin’s training, so you needn’t worry about whether he is fit for the Jedi or not.” He took a breath, then added, petulantly, “and if you would like to kill a Sith as well, I can send the next one your way.”

Her montrals flushed. Obi-wan regretted the quip immediately and bowed his head in forced apology. “Thank you for your concern,” he repeated. “I’m glad to know that Anakin’s teachers are looking out for him. And I appreciate the communication. Will that be all?”

Asa sucked in a breath and nodded. “Thank you for meeting with me,” she said.

Obi-wan smiled, though inwardly he wanted to groan, and took his leave before he could dig Anakin into a deeper hole. In the hall, he let out a long breath.

Anakin had scrambled away, clearly listening at the door, but now he stood at a little distance. His eyes were fixed on Obi-wan with an intensity that seemed to drill right through him. He looked smaller, shoulders hunched, waiting. Silent. Even his presence in the Force seemed smaller, dim behind his own shields.

“You’re not in trouble, Padawan,” Obi-wan said, shaking his head.

Some of the tension vanished, though Anakin still looked wary. “She hates me,” he said.

Obi-wan touched Anakin’s shoulder, leading him away from the classroom. “All I can say,” he said, “is that it is a good lesson in dealing with people that you don’t like.”

Anakin grimaced. “I only don’t like her ‘cause cheekteez do schutta.”

“Anakin,” Obi-wan warned.

Anakin wrinkled his nose. “Well she is.”

“I know.” Obi-wan let out a breath. “But you still shouldn’t say it. You must show people respect, even if they haven’t earned it. But she is the teacher, and it is your job to learn, even if she has given you ample reason not to like her.”

“Slimo Jedai schutta,” Anakin muttered under his breath.

“Anakin,” Obi-wan snapped.  

Anakin wrinkled his nose and shot a glare up at Obi-wan.

“I am on your side, small one,” Obi-wan said, leading Anakin around the corner and to the lift. “But unfortunately, your algebra teacher is a necessary irritation. It is a good opportunity to learn to let things go and release your frustrations.”

Anakin glowered, a little ball of nerves and worry.

“We will meditate together,” Obi-wan said, and set aside his own worries about his dreams as the doors to the lift slid open. “You must release your anger into the Force- she will not be the only one to rub you the wrong way.”

“How am I supposed to release my anger?” Anakin muttered, stepping into the lift behind Obi-wan. The doors closed behind them, and they were alone in the small space.

Obi-wan smiled and squeezed Anakin’s shoulder. “It will get easier with time. But I will help you.” He leaned down closer. “And I cannot change anything with this semester, but I will make sure that next semester you have a different teacher. She irritates me as well.”

Anakin glanced up at Obi-wan, studying his face for a moment. Then he nodded. “Okay.”

Obi-wan dropped his hand to Anakin’s shoulder as they headed back to their quarters.

Chapter Text

Qui-gon pressed his palms together, breathing in a long, slow breath and feeling the Force fill his lungs. And then he exhaled and sank back into a shallow lunge, pressing his hands over his head. He sank deeper into the lunge, weakened muscles trembling. But the Force gathered round him and he held the pose, welcoming the ache. That was the ache of working, energy, weakened muscles ripping apart as to rebuild themselves-

The door slammed open.

“Master.”

Qui-gon exhaled sharply, but ignored Obi-wan’s overdramatic entrance. He inhaled again, straightening, shifting his weight and drawing his leg back in. His muscles ached in protest. But the stretches felt good on his back, and he knew that eventually, his muscles would catch back up.

His eyes were closed, but he heard the floor creak as Obi-wan circled him. Though he was quiet now, almost respectful of his master’s exercise, Qui-gon could sense Obi-wan’s spiked energy. He was riled about something, and waiting to be noticed.

Qui-gon let him suffer for another moment as he repeated his slow lunge on the opposite leg. Only when he was satisfied, did he straighten and open his eyes. “Knight Kenobi. To what do I owe this surprise visit?”

Obi-wan made a face at him. “I have to go to the Senate.”

Ah, that would explain the energy spiking through Obi-wan’s signature. It set Qui-gon on edge- that energy Obi-wan had was useful in an actual fight, but reminded him too much of Xanatos during peaceful times. He wished, privately, that his apprentice could burn it off by doing something less violent than fighting. Somebody would end up bruised and burned by Obi-wan’s lightsaber by the end of the day.

(And it was more discomfiting now, because Qui-gon knew how Obi-wan burned off his energy back on Mandalore. Watching Obi-wan stalk to the kitchen and back to the living room, and then to the kitchen again where he aggressively added water to the kettle, he thought of a male lothcat, and tried to banish the image.)

“And why, Padawan, must you go to the Senate?” he asked.

Obi-wan slammed the kettle down on the stovetop, rattling the cabinets, and turned. “Because the Council has decided that I am the Chancellor’s golden boy.” He turned and flipped on the burner like it had offended him. “So I must go and shake his hand and tell him all about how Bant and I saved the children in the factory.”

Qui-gon raised an eyebrow. “Most knights would be happy for this assignment. An easy assignment, attention from the Chancellor- I’m sure he will share his fine Nubian wines with you when you dine with him.”

“I have to have dinner with him?” Obi-wan grimaced.

“Perhaps.” Qui-gon patted Obi-wan’s shoulder. “But think of the expensive wine, Padawan, and you will survive.”

Obi-wan’s grimace lightened for a moment as he considered that, then deepened again. “It isn’t worth it,” he said, shaking his head.

“Then you are lost.” Qui-gon shook his head sadly and shooed Obi-wan away from the stove before he could break anything in his frustration. “What time are you leaving?”

“An hour. Bant and I are meeting in the main hall.” Obi-wan stalked back to the living area. “Perhaps I cannot go. Perhaps Anakin’s power knocked me out again. I am deceased, Master, I cannot go.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Obi-wan.” Qui-gon chose a tea- a more calming variety, though he knew it wouldn’t still Obi-wan. “You will do fine. You excel at these sorts of assignments. People like you, whether you realize it or not.”

“I wish he didn’t like me.” Obi-wan made a face. “He only likes me because I defeated the Sith on his planet. It’s good for publicity for him to be seen with me. And the Council gets good press from all of it. It’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous it is,” Qui-gon agreed, adding the tea to the water. “But that is the circus that is the Senate.” He turned while it steeped and fixed Obi-wan with a stern look. “Do you truly wish to escape? I feel a pain coming on.” He pressed his fist against the scar under his tunic. “I may need you to escort me to the Halls of Healing.”

Obi-wan considered it, and Qui-gon would have laughed were he not holding a straight face. He would have done it- he almost hoped Obi-wan would say yes, if only to see how the uproar it would cause the Council.

But Obi-wan was the responsible one of the two of them, and he slumped. “No. I should go. If I’m back late, tell Anakin where I am.”

Qui-gon gestured for Obi-wan to come closer, and pressed a cup of tea into his hands. “Calm yourself, Padawan. We all must do things we don’t care for.”

Obi-wan took a sip, then wrapped his hands around the warm cup. “I still have a bad feeling about it.”

Qui-gon took his own cup to the table. “Is it anything specific?”

“Nothing more than normal.” Obi-wan let out a long breath and sank into his normal seat as well. The steam from his tea danced in his breath. “I’ve been having dreams the past two nights,” he said, and his eyes flicked up to Qui-gon, almost shyly.

Qui-gon took a sip of his tea. He would have to tread lightly here as to not spook his old padawan. But if Obi-wan had brought it up… “Dreams pass in time,” he said. “But they often carry wisdom in their passing. What have you seen?”

The aroma of the tea filled the air between them. Obi-wan took another sip, already looking awkward at the attention turning to him, even if he had started the conversation. “I see war,” he finally said, his tone soft. His knuckles were white where he wrapped his hands around the cup. “I don’t know when- it’s clouded. But…” He shook his head. “Master, it’s probably nothing, but… I have a bad feeling about this. About everything.”

Qui-gon felt his heart skip a beat. He remembered his conversation with Vader- “Dooku. During the first Battle of Geonosis.”

The first battle.

“Master?” Obi-wan swallowed. “It’s probably nothing. As you said, dreams pass-”

“Did you see Master Dooku in any of your dreams?” Qui-gon’s fingers curled to fists under the table.

Obi-wan blinked. He was surprised- Qui-gon normally didn’t grill him for details. Obi-wan’s dreams would either come to pass or not, and trying to analyze them only made Obi-wan more anxious.  

“I… don’t know.” Obi-wan bit the inside of his cheek, then closed his eyes. “I saw… Anakin. He’s older. Taller. Um- a girl.” He tilted his head, eyes still closed. His jaw tightened as he concentrated. “There’s markings on her face-” He opened his eyes. “I could draw them, but…?”

“Don’t bother, Padawan.” Qui-gon shook his head. Once upon a time, it had been an exercise to increase Obi-wan’s awareness of his surroundings. Qui-gon would tell him to close his eyes and ask specific questions- how many flowers was the statue they had just passed holding? What colors were the cobblestones on the path they walked?

Except it worked with dreams too, and that was what Qui-gon didn’t want to do. Obi-wan would drive himself to madness concentrating on dreams and feelings, if people let him.

“I apologize. My thoughts have turned, recently, towards my own master.” He shook his head. “But your dreams will not bring me clarity. They will pass, Obi-wan. Whether they become the present, or whether they are shadows that will never come to be.”

Obi-wan studied Qui-gon’s face for a long moment, then took a sip of his tea.

“Do not dwell on them.” Qui-gon stood and moved around the table to rest a hand on Obi-wan’s shoulder. “Go. Meditate before you meet with Bant and the Chancellor. Clear your head. Focus on the here and now.”

He felt the tension in Obi-wan’s shoulder and pressed the heel of his palm into the muscle. Obi-wan glanced up at him quizzically, then rolled his shoulder back into Qui-gon’s hand.

Qui-gon snorted, but obliged, massaging deeper into the muscle. Obi-wan tilted his head to the side, arching his back. Qui-gon thought again of a feral lothcat and wondered if all his pathetic lifeforms (Obi-wan’s words, not his) were like this.

He dropped his hands from Obi-wan’s shoulder. “Enough. You can roll out your own muscles later. You need to meditate.”

“But Master,” Obi-wan said, turning. “You only got one side. It’s unbalanced.”

“Then it will teach you a valuable lesson about focusing on the moment,” Qui-gon said. Then he smiled. “Go on, Obi-wan. You have earned your accolades. You are allowed to enjoy the attention and expensive wine, even if the company leaves something to be desired.”

Obi-wan rolled his shoulders back and took another sip of tea before getting up. He bowed, then turned for the door. “I won’t enjoy it,” he said as he opened it.

“May the Force be with you, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon called after him.

Obi-wan scoffed and shut the door behind him.

Qui-gon took another sip of his tea before returning to his exercises.

…

Bant tsked when she saw Obi-wan, and immediately licked her fingers and went to neaten out his hair. “You look like one of Master Jinn’s pathetic projects,” she said, as Obi-wan ducked his head away from her hand.

“I am one of Master Jinn’s pathetic projects,” Obi-wan pointed out. He huffed, but let Bant fix his hair.

“You should at least trim it properly, if you’re going to grow it out.” Bant licked her hand again and worked at the wavy banthalick. “Do you need me to help you?”

“I don’t need you to cut my hair.” Obi-wan huffed and waited for her to finish. A glance in a reflective window told him that her spit had indeed made him look a little less feral, but less like himself. He wished it was a bit longer. By the end of his year on Mandalore, his hair had framed his face, and he looked forward to the effect being repeated.

“Well, I’m here if you need me to.” Bant grabbed Obi-wan’s chin and tilted his head to consider her work. “It will suffice,” she said, and drew her hand back. She took a deep breath. “Obi-wan… look. I know that you’ve been to events like this before. But I have not- not on this scale, I mean, and-”

“Bant. It’s alright.” Obi-wan smiled and bowed his head. “I’ll behave. I know what’s on the line for you.”

She studied his face, reading his sincerity, and nodded.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Obi-wan. She trusted Obi-wan with her life. But the problem was that Obi-wan did inherit Master Jinn’s crazy streak and well… sometimes it shined through at the worst moments. Her knighthood was on the line. If Obi-wan pissed off the Council at this event, then it would be reflected on her. And she wanted to be a knight. She needed to be a knight. Not just for Master Fisto- she loved him certainly.

But for Master Uvain as well. For Tahl.

Bant missed Tahl. Her becoming a knight would be the ultimate honor to Tahl’s memory- that her student should graduate. Bant had lost her master, but she had not broken. She had not stopped. She had continued to study and train and live in Tahl’s honor, and now she would be knighted.

In the back of her head, she already knew what she would do with her string of padawan beads. She would cut into two pieces, their lengths proportional to her time spent with her two masters. The longer strand would go to Kit. The shorter beads, the ones she had added when she had first been chosen, would be burned in honor to Tahl.

Obi-wan fell into step beside her as they walked for the doors, but when they got outside he fell back a respectful half-pace, granting her lead over the mission. She didn’t look at him, but she brushed against their friendship bond gratefully. “So they are knighting you,” he said as they reached the stairs down into the square outside the Temple, a little area of greenery and a taste of the gardens within.

Bant’s shrug was little more than a flinch of her shoulders. “Master Kit thinks I’m ready. And so does the Council.” She paused at the base of the steps, turning to look up at Obi-wan. “But I don’t know if I am.”

Obi-wan made a noise like a scoff. “You’re better off than me,” he said. “Nobody thought I was ready. They were very vocal about it. But, whether it makes you feel better or worse, I believe you are ready.”

Bant sighed and offered a small smile. “I hope you’re right.” And she opened her mouth to lie and tell Obi-wan that she had thought he was ready for knighthood, but they heard the whine of a speeder overhead.

It dropped, shining bright in the midafternoon sun. A chrome-plated droid sat at the controls. “Masters Eerin and Kenobi?”

They shared a glance, then Bant bowed. “That is us.”

The droid jumped up from the speeder and saluted smartly. Every joint was silent in motion, smooth and lifelike. “I am here to escort you to your meeting with the Chancellor. But I heard there was supposed to be a third Jedi? A Master Skywalker?”

She felt Obi-wan tighten in the Force. Nobody else would have noticed, but his shields were weak right now and Bant was familiar with Obi-wan’s moods. He didn’t like that the Chancellor had expected his new padawan.

“My apprentice is in class right now,” Obi-wan said, bowing his head. “Unfortunately, he will not be joining us. Of course, I will give him the Chancellor’s regards.”

The droid excepted that and opened the back seat seat’s door. Bant reached to Obi-wan in the Force, brushing against him and hoping he wouldn’t do something stupid during this evening. Then she slid into the speeder, draping her robes neatly around her body. Obi-wan sat beside her, nudged her webbed hand with his own bony fingers. And then the droid put the speeder into gear.

…

Obi-wan hated the Senate building. Just walking inside made him feel on edge. It was the sight of thousands of bribes and cheats and inner dealings, and it gave the Force a slimy sort of feel that ate at the back of Obi-wan’s mind. It was like eyes were on him, waiting for him to sell out as well, and he hated it.

Because he was selling out just by being here.

Bant was not selling out. Bant was here because she had done a genuinely good, brave thing. But she had been the star of their rescue mission, not Obi-wan. Obi-wan hadn’t even remained conscious for the entire thing. He had seen the footage played back on the news. He knew that Bant’s dragging his limp carcass from the factory was the only reason he had not been crushed in the collapse.

And it was a more than a little embarrassing, because his name was attached to everything. Everybody knew that Kenobi had defeated some strange Force-user on Naboo, and his knighting had far too many hits, and now everybody knew he had knocked himself out in that factory (okay, Anakin had knocked him out, but he wasn’t going to comment about that on the holonet).

And now he would be seen again with the Chancellor, and Obi-wan wasn’t even sure if he agreed with Palpatine’s politics. He hadn’t seen enough of his work yet. But it didn’t matter, because Obi-wan’s presence alone was enough to endorse him.

“Relax,” Bant murmured to him as they entered the lift. “I can feel your tension.”

Obi-wan glanced at her, then forced his shoulders back and his jaw to relax.

To his surprise, the Chancellor greeted them as soon as the lift doors opened. “Knight Kenobi! Padawan Eerin!” he exclaimed, arms spread wide and welcoming. “I am glad that you could make it. I trust my driver found you?”

“He did.” Bant stepped off the lift and bowed deeply. “Thank you for the thought.”

Obi-wan bowed as well, but lingered a step behind her. He was more than happy to let Bant take point here.

But when he straightened, he found the Chancellor standing directly in front of him. Were he not well-trained, he would have jumped. The old man moved so quietly, and he was so null in the Force. “I trust that my little starfighter pilot is adjusting well to the Jedi Temple?”

“He is.” Obi-wan fought the urge to step back. “He is in class as we speak.”

“Good.” Palpatine reached out to clasp Obi-wan’s hand. “I feel that you are a good teacher for the boy. I still cannot express how grateful I am to you both for your bravery in defending Naboo. And between you and me…” he leaned in conspiratorially, “… you are welcome to use my lake house back home if you ever need a vacation.”

Obi-wan smiled politely and nodded.

Palpatine held his hand for another moment, his grip strong and friendly, then dropped it and turned to Bant. “And you as well, Padawan Eerin. Any friend of Obi-wan’s is a friend of mine.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Bant said.

“Now, I must apologize- An utterly boring committee meeting came up, but I would love for you both to sit with me before dinner.” He shook his head. “It is nothing of interest to you- a few systems are considering new trade routes, after the loss of revenue for the Trade Federation.”

“We would be honored to sit with you, Chancellor.” Bant bowed again. Obi-wan wanted to elbow her and say she was overdoing it, and then it occurred to him that he was familiar enough with the Chancellor now that he didn’t feel the need to bow every ten seconds. He suppressed a shiver.

…

“And as current events stand, allying ourselves with the Naboo would provide a much-needed economic boost.” Markus Farr of Mandalore folded his hands neatly on the table and inclined his head. “Not to mention, it would be an honor to ally ourselves with your people. The Duchess holds your people and culture in high esteem.”

Janus Greejatus of the Naboo stroked his chin in deep thought. “As it stands,” he said, “New Mandalore is a hotbed of terrorist activity and anarchist tendencies. It seems a folly to agree to the treaty which you propose.”

Obi-wan sucked in a breath. Bant touched his hand under the table. They were only there as companions to the Chancellor- the senators would have to iron out the details of their bills on their own, without Jedi interference. But, despite the news reels, despite the rumors, despite the continued discord between Satine’s people and the traditional groups, New Mandalore was peaceful. Obi-wan had spent time there- he had seen how aggressively peaceful the people were.

“Now, Senator, New Mandalore is pulling herself up by her bootstraps, as the saying goes,” Palpatine said, crossing his arms. “And young Senator Farr makes a good point about their metalworkers. Perhaps that could be a promising starting point?” He glanced over at Obi-wan, the corner of his mouth twitching in an almost conspiratorial smile. “After all, how can they rise in our society if we never allow them the foothold?”

“Our exports include beskar and beskar alloys,” Farr said. “Despite the damage to our planet’s environment, our mines are intact.”

“It seemed to me that beskar was sacred.” Greejatus pronounced the word like it was an odd sort of insect. “Why would your people sell it?”

“Because it is useful and valuable.” Farr smiled a little self-consciously. “And, as you speak of culture, it is poetic. Once, we only used our metal for acts of war. Now we may sell it as an act of peace. The Duchess herself has agreed that we should use all resources at our disposal.”

Obi-wan wanted to drop his head to the table. Farr had just as good as admitted that selling metal was the only thing he had to offer. Naboo did not need metal- they had their own mines and colonies and systems to get what they wanted. Naboo needed nothing from Mandalore

“And besides,” Farr continued, the money would go towards rejuvenating our planet’s surface. Our civil war left us with little by way of natural resources.”

Stop, Obi-wan pleaded in his head. Please.

Satine would have taken hold of this committee. She would have stood tall, outstretched her hands, and explained to the dreary-eyed Nubian senator how a treaty would raise both of their cultures to a new height. How by embracing Mandalore, Naboo would have the debt of a highly skilled warrior race. Beskar could be shared, yes, but so too could teachings and history and tradition. Her speeches set people on fire. She had her people screaming battle cries for peace. Naboo would have seen that Mandalore was a rising superpower- not the struggling, war-torn clans that the galaxy seemed to think they were.

“It seems that the senator of New Mandalore is asking for assistance,” Palpatine said kindly. He smiled indulgently at Farr, then turned towards Greejatus. “Perhaps… something could be arranged?”

“I will have to consult with my advisors,” Greejatus said, but his lips were thin with his decision. “But it seems that New Mandalore has little to offer.”

“We have-”

“Your metal, I am aware.” Greejatus shook his head. “We have metal in our own system.”

“But the Trade Federation is failing,” Farr said, glancing back towards Palpatine for help, before turning back to Greejatus. “Your imports and exports were all through them-”

“You know nothing of our economy,” Greejatus said. “You are young, and you have much to learn of how the galaxy works. Even these Jedi have seen more than you.”

The corner of Farr’s mouth twitched. Under his formal blue tunic, his muscles tensed. “I was a child of war. I have seen more-”

“Yes, we have all seen war.” Greejatus sniffed. “My own planet is still reeling from an unlawful blockade. Our Chancellor has risen from such strife. Even Knight Kenobi here has led an army- how are the Melida and the Daan? I have not heard much news from that system.”

Bant’s eyes flicked to him, but Obi-wan did not rise to the bait. But he wanted to. He itched to take the floor in defense of Satine’s people. He was no pacifist, but he recognized their budding greatness.

“I had the honor of crossing paths with Senator Farr during my time on Mandalore,” Obi-wan said instead. “He is young, yes, but he is wise beyond his years. If he believes a treaty would be favorable, I am inclined to support him.”

“See there?” Palpatine smiled and raised his hands. “The Jedi support this alliance.”

“Of course, Knight Kenobi speaks only from his experience, and not for the Order,” Bant said hastily.

“Yes…” Greejatus narrowed his eyes. “His own experience has brought him into close contact with this new nation of Mandalore. Close contact with the Duchess herself, am I correct?” He fixed his gaze onto Obi-wan. “It seems that the Jedi is not so impartial?”

“These rumors?” Farr’s jaw clenched. “No- all that was are gossip rags looking for fodder. Our Duchess is nothing but professional, and I will not hear a word against her.”

“I acted only as Duchess Kryze’s bodyguard,” Obi-wan said. “But I assure you that I am as impartial-”

Palpatine touched his arm for silence. “It does not surprise me that the young men here would rise so passionately to the defense of the Duchess,” he said, inclining his head to both Obi-wan and Senator Farr. “But perhaps their opinions have been subconsciously… swayed. Tell me, Padawan Eerin, what you think of this situation.”

Obi-wan felt Bant’s ire bloom hot against their friendship bond. But she smiled. “Both the Naboo and the Mandalorians have strong, similar ideals. Both of your cultures desire and strive for peace. I forsee Mandalore becoming a strong nation with the help of the Naboo.”

Obi-wan fell back, fuming, though he smoothed his expression. Despite himself, his eyes flicked towards Farr.

Subconsciously swayed?

Farr looked peeved at the insult for a moment, but then he nodded gratefully to Bant.

Markus Farr was classically Mandalorian- the strong bones and dark eyes and black curls that tumbled around his face. He was attractive- Obi-wan had never had feelings for any specific man, but he was not closed off to the concept. So he could tell that Farr was good looking. And he was in close proximity to Satine.

Obi-wan prided himself on not being the jealous type, but he didn’t like the twisting feeling in his gut.

A moment later he came back to himself and realized he had missed Greejatus’s next comment. But from Farr’s bright smile, it had been in Mandalore’s favor. Palpatine let out a sigh and offered bright smiles all around.

“Well, friends, I am glad we’ve gotten this matter sorted,” he said. “Perhaps now would be a good time to call this committee for the evening. I’m sure you both have families to get home to. Senator Greejatus, how are the grandchildren?”

“They are well, thank you, Chancellor.”

“And Senator Farr? Is there a lady love waiting for you?”

Farr shook his head. “Not as of yet. I am focused solely on New Mandalore.”

“Ah,” Palpatine said as he stood. “I remember when I was a young man. I spent all my energy on Naboo.” He fixed Farr with a warm, but nostalgic smile as he stood from his seat. “I don’t regret a moment, but I do sometimes wish there was a bit more… But we do what we must for our people.”

“That we do, Chancellor,” Farr said, rising as well. “Thank you for your time this afternoon. And you as well, Senator Greejatus.” He bowed to both of them.

The room slowly cleared. Palpatine turned to Bant and Obi-wan. “I must organize my notes for the day, and then I insist that you both join me for dinner. Thank you very much for accompanying me here today. I shall meet you both on the eastern balcony and my chauffeur will take us to a wonderful restaurant I had in mind.”

“That would be wonderful. We look forward to it.” Bant bowed and made her exit. Obi-wan swiftly followed.

…

As soon as they were out of sight, Bant turned and hit Obi-wan hard in the chest. He stumbled back a step and pouted.

“What the hells were you thinking?” she hissed, glancing back to make sure Palpatine wasn’t coming in this direction. “I told you to keep your mouth shut!”

“He was floundering,” Obi-wan snapped back, rubbing the sting out of where she’d hit. “Our opinion carries more weight-”

“When it’s asked for.” Bant gestured broadly. “Nobody asked for it! The senator from Naboo was goading you on with that comment about your old mission- you fell for it. And then you practically admitted to sleeping with Satine-”

“I did not!”

“You did! When you immediately jumped on the Mandalorian bandwagon.” Bant clenched her fists. “That’s one of the reasons the Code forbids attachment- how can we be impartial if we are literally in bed with one of the systems that-”

“I said what I thought was right-”

“No, you didn’t.” Bant glared at him. “You defended your girlfriend because the senator she picked is useless. I know you, Obi-wan. You could have debated circles around-”

“Excuse me?”

The senator in question appeared around the corner, smiling awkwardly. “Masters Jedi. Hello. I just wanted to thank you for your words in the meeting.”

Like a switch flicked, Obi-wan and Bant turned, expressions smoothing into polite masks. “Of course,” Bant said, bowing her head.

Markus let out a long breath. “It’s exhausting,” he whispered, leaning in. “I thought it was tiring fighting all the time, but this…” he gestured to the Senate. “Fighting with words is so much more difficult. How Satine does it all the time, I can’t imagine. She’s truly a remarkable woman.”

At the familiar use of Satine’s name, Bant sensed Obi-wan tense beside her. She fought the urge to elbow the stupid knight- he was jealous. Though his expression remained relaxed, he eyed the Mandalorian senator, sizing him up. Bant was, for a moment, uncomfortably reminded of the vicious fights between Obi-wan and Bruck during their initiate days.

But she had to trust that Obi-wan was smarter now than he had been at eleven.

“I will tell her how you both helped me,” Farr said. “I’m certain she will be most grateful. Thank you for your time. May the Force be with you.” He bowed.

“And with you,” Bant said, returning the bow. She glanced over at Obi-wan.

But Obi-wan was smart. He bowed as well, and watched as the Mandalorian senator walked away.

Satine would have been better off with Markus Farr, Bant thought. Obi-wan was unavailable; Markus was available, interested, and not tied to a Code. But then the emotion broke through Obi-wan’s blank expression. He half turned away, swallowing hard.

Bant sighed, deciding that Obi-wan was probably punishing himself enough. She touched his arm. “We must follow the will of the Force,” she said softly. “Hard as it may be.”

Obi-wan glanced down at her. He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it and shook his head. “Come. We should not be late for the Chancellor’s dinner.” He turned, taking a step down the hall.

Bant grabbed his arm. “Wait. Look at me. Are you okay?”

He blinked, tried to tug his arm back. But she held firm.

“I’m fine, Bant,” he said.

She studied his face for a moment. He smiled awkwardly and tugged on his arm again. Only when she was certain he wasn’t about to run after Farr, start crying, or go off and do something that Qui-gon Jinn would do did she let go of his arm.

…

“Ah, you made it.” Palpatine raised his arms wide as he joined the Jedi on the balcony. “It is a short ride. Come, sit.” He waved the chauffeur droid away from the shining speeder and opened the doors himself. “I hope neither of you mind if I drive? It’s such a drag, always getting driven everywhere like some elder without a license.”

“Of course not,” Bant said, glancing at Obi-wan. She took the front seat, leaving Obi-wan in the back. He couldn’t help but think that was fitting after the debacle of the impromptu committee meeting. Now, after a few moments to calm down, he felt like an idiot.

“Oh, good.” Palpatine slid into the driver’s seat and shook out his hands. “You know, I used to race, back when I was your age. Back on Naboo.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t dare try to repeat any of that now. But I do miss those days.”

Bant glanced in the side mirror, meeting Obi-wan’s eyes through the reflection. “You must have many stories from those days.”

“Oh, I do.” Palpatine shifted the speeder into gear with an ease that would have satisfied Anakin and they lifted from the balcony. “My favorite was a sailing race- slower than a speeder of course, but a thousand times more thrilling. I had to be younger than you both, and it was just my tiny boat, a single sail, and me. For hours, I circled the lake systems of Theed, using my own body weight as ballast, riding the wind and the waves.”

“That must have been exhilarating,” Bant supplied.

“Oh, it was.” He merged into the traffic lanes. “I think you Jedi folk would appreciate it- you have to feel the wind and the current. It’s a lot like what you do with the Force, I am inclined to think.”

“I would love to experience that someday,” Bant said with a little smile. “They still sail on Mon Cala. Someday I would like to learn.”

Did she really? Obi-wan hadn’t heard her voice that before. But Palpatine turned sharply towards her, lips parted, before turning back to the lane. “Oh, my dear, you’ve never been? You must, someday. It connects you to the water and the sky in a way that no other activity can.”

“I remember seeing the ships overhead before I was taken in by the Jedi,” Bant said, her little smile growing. “The shadow would cross the seabed and we would chase after the hulls. They were only moving as fast as the wind, but somehow we could never swim fast enough.”

“It amazes me that you’ve never been on one of the ships,” Palpatine said, reaching out and lightly touching her arm. “You will have to someday. Ah, I remember one day, I was out- this was not a race; I was only out for the joy of it. The winds came up hard that day, so I reefed my sails and hunkered down in the hope that I could ride the storm back into the harbor.”

Bant turned in the seat, facing Palpatine. “And did you?”

He chuckled, eyes flicking over to her, then shook his head. “No- I actually hit a wave and capsized. I thought I was lost, and then I saw a fin slice through the water and I knew it for sure.”

The story felt staged to Obi-wan, but he knew he was a cynic, and he still felt like an idiot from his screw up. So he tried to make himself look attentive. But he didn’t particularly like Palpatine- the man’s grandfatherly nostalgia rubbed him the wrong way.

Though, Obi-wan had never known his grandfather, so perhaps this was just how they were.

“I thought it was a sawtooth- those are the most vicious surface-water predators. They grab their prey and just rip.” He made a motion like biting teeth with his hand. “Nasty. It was a sure death, and a painful one.”

“And?” Bant asked, invested now.

Palpatine grinned, and for a moment, he seemed to look like the boy he had once been. “It was a redback dolphin. It swam in circles around me, chattering like it was trying to talk. So you know what I did?”

Bant shook her head, rapt.

Palpatine’s smile broadened. “I asked it for a ride. I grabbed onto its fin and it towed me through the waves. And I tell you that nothing- nothing!- will ever compare to that moment. Breathtaking. I was sorry to make it back to shore!”

Bant let out a breath. “That must have been incredible.”

“Oh, I had heard stories about the dolphins- both redback and the koorba varieties- helping people. But to be helped myself?” He shook his head. “I wish I had the Force, because that must have been a Force-blessed moment.”

He shifted, drifting to the edge of the lane, and exited. “We’re close now. Thank you both for indulging me. It is good to feel like Sheev again, and not Chancellor Palpatine.”

“Of course,” Bant said, but she sounded more genuine now. “Thank you for sharing with us.”

“Yes, thank you,” Obi-wan echoed.

Palpatine glanced in the rearview mirror. His eyes met Obi-wan’s, warm in the reflection. And Obi-wan felt nothing from the Force- neither good nor bad. Palpatine simply was.

That should have reassured him, but anxiety rose in Obi-wan’s gut. Suddenly, urgently, he did not want to be watching Palpatine hand the speeder keys to the valet. He felt sick as a waiter led them into the glass-walled restaurant. A reporter hovered closer to their table, and Obi-wan wanted to throw up. He needed to escape.

But he was a good little Jedi, so he took his seat and remained quiet as Bant and the Chancellor discussed the speedboat races on Mon Cala. But not even the expensive wine from the vineyards of Naboo’s Lake Country made the evening bearable. The longer they lingered, the more the cameras flashed, the more the sunlight scattered through the glass walls of the restaurant, the more Obi-wan felt the need to flee.

He was in danger- they were all in danger. The sun set blood red and reflected off the window like blaster bolts, but the Force was silent. Bant’s laugh at Palpatine’s joke was clear and simple and unironic. Obi-wan’s fingers clenched around his glass so hard he worried he might shatter it as he forced himself to smile. He hid the brittle expression behind a sip.

By the end of the meal, their dear friend Sheev had promised to take Bant sailing on Naboo, and Bant had enthusiastically agreed. “And you as well,” he said to Obi-wan. “Bring your padawan! I was sorry to see he could not come tonight.”

“I will give him your regards,” Obi-wan said, bowing. “Thank you for tonight.”

Palpatine caught his arm and pulled him up. “It is a small price for your heroics during that awful tragedy. I hate to think of how many more would have been lost if not for your bravery.”

“It is my duty,” Obi-wan said.

Palpatine leaned in closer. “I have a great deal of respect for you, my boy. You follow your own path, even with your Code. You remind me of me.” He squeezed Obi-wan’s arm tighter. “Don’t lose that passion, Obi-wan.”

Obi-wan smiled politely and nodded.

...

They were silent the whole ride back to the Jedi Temple, though Bant had pulled out her datapad and already found a few pictures from the evening circulating in the news. It wasn’t until they were dropped back off that she turned to him. “What happened?”

Obi-wan’s hid his shaking hands in his sleeves. “Nothing…?”

Her silver eyes narrowed. “I sounded like an idiot, talking about sailing like some smitten girl the whole time. I was waiting for you to rescue me. Where were you?”

Obi-wan drew in a breath. “I… I’m sorry. The Force feels…”

“The Force feels what?” She gestured vaguely. “You’ve been off the whole night. Talk to me. Is it one of your feelings?”

He licked his lips, unable to meet her eyes. “No. No- it’s… not.” He shook his head. “It’s… I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s off.”

Bant sighed. Obi-wan’s eyes were bright in the evening light outside the Temple. He pleaded with her to understand. But whatever he felt, she could not. Everything felt normal to her.

“You’ve been under a lot of stress, my friend,” she said, and touched his arm. “I think you need to rest.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Obi-wan’s expression shuttered. He nodded sharply and turned towards the Temple steps. “I am sorry I let you down tonight,” he said before he left. “It was unprofessional of me.”

“You didn’t let me down- it was only that… you know I’m not truly mad.” Bant rushed after him. “Obi-wan. I’m not mad at you.”

He whirled around. “But you think I’m crazy.”

“No.” She stopped short. “But I do think you’ve been stressed and- Obi-wan, don’t walk away from me!”

“I’m stressed,” he spat over his shoulder. “I’m going to go meditate on it.”

“Obi-wan!” Bant huffed. “Fine. I wasn’t mad at you, but now I am.” She tried to put bite into her voice, but she was bad at being actually mad. “You know I’m here for you.”

Already halfway down the hall, Obi-wan stopped for a moment. “I know,” he said, and his voice had an odd inflection, like he was forcing it to soften.

Bant sighed and took that as a pyrrhic victory, letting him walk away.

Chapter Text

Quinlan fell. The plush white bathrobe fluttered around him even as he pulled the lightsaber from his belt, fingering the ignition as he watched the ground rise to meet him.

“You’re DEAD, JEDI!” screamed the teenager from the window. “I will avenge my FATHER-”

-

-Record scratch-

-Freeze frame-

I bet you’re wondering how I got here. I mean, I look pretty badass, right? Look at that, a Jedi falling from a window, about to ignite his lightsaber and go into battle. I mean, only I can look good in a bathrobe.

Okay, okay, I know this is Obi-wan’s story. It’s ALL about Obi-wan. He’s the main character, I’m the sexy comedy relief, yeah, yeah. But I promise, this is important to the plot. Okay? Okay, so let’s rewind a bit and see why I got to dramatically throw myself out of a window.

-

Quinlan Vos was soaked in blood. It soaked his dreadlocks and stained his tunics and congealed on his hands. He took a shuddering breath, trying to block the visions- he felt the memories from the blood, from a hundred people, their last moments as before they were wrenched from their bodies and violently hurled into the Force.

They lay around the ballroom, their finery stained and soaked in the evidence of passion, of violence, of slaughter.

-

Okay, nope, that’s not really helpful either is it. Look, cut me some slack, I’m not used to being the protagonist. Rewind a little more…

-

It had been a wedding. A simple mission, really- the colonists wanted independence, and they had a good case for it. The mother planet wanted to keep their colony- they were struggling financially, and needed the income. But as it was, the mother planet was sucking the colony dry, and if they did not have their independence, they would be ruined.

Quinlan’s job was to provide an unbiased presence as they tried to find the middle ground. And they had found it! They had!

It had been an unlikely relationship, a forbidden love between the princess of the homeworld and the governor’s daughter of the colony. Quinlan had pointed out that their union would be a solid grounds for peace- family connection between the two worlds, rather than one relying on the other.

He was proud of his work. He thought he did the right thing, bringing them together. Their love deserved to be out in the open- Quinlan was quite a proponent for love. He sometimes wished he had some of it for himself.

And the wedding had been beautiful- Quinlan actually shed a tear himself. He had brought them together- kriff the politics, those two really deserved each other.

And then came the wedding feast. Quinlan was three drinks in, wooing one of the waitresses with charm and witty banter, when he heard raised voices. He sighed, hoping the argument would sort itself out.

And then the Force had flared with anger and Quinlan saw the flash of metal as someone was stabbed.

And someone else screamed in rage and pulled a blaster, while someone else grabbed a steak knife from the table.

Quinlan tried to stop it. He ignited his lightsaber and held it over his head as he called for order, and someone threw something at him.

“You have no say here, Republic dog,” snarled one of the brides, her face a mask of rage as she locked eyes with her beloved’s father. “This has gone on for long enough.”

Quinlan tried to grab her, and then he saw a group of children cowering under the table and he had to abandon the fighting adults for the poor kids. He slid through spilled wedding food and broken plates and fell to his knees. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand.

The oldest of the children nodded at the two younger. Quinlan hefted the smallest one on his hip and grabbed the other’s hand, trusting that the oldest would follow.

He got them out of the impromptu battle, sent them running- he only hoped they would know where to go for help.

He sprinted back and caught the warning from the Force too late as a fist hit his eye so hard his head snapped back. “Jedi bastard,” snarled the attacker, and Quinlan kneed the man in the groin and headed back into the fray.

He found two more children, sobbing and wailing. These ones would not move quickly and calmly as the last ones- he had to haul them up, but he could only hold one and still have a lightsaber hand. He turned desperately, searching for anybody who had not given into their pent-up rage- he only needed a pair of hands to help.

A blaster bolt got him in the shoulder and he dropped the larger of the children, grunting. The boy hit the ground and wailed, covering his face, and a woman came running- his mother probably.

But she was taken down by a fist from a larger man, and she pulled a knife on him, and Quinlan tried to put himself between the child and his brutal mother. The man’s blood hit Quinlan’s face. He tasted it, iron-salt on his tongue.

“Stop!” he commanded.

But this feud had boiled over, and he hauled up the screaming kid in his good arm, switching the lightsaber to the injured one. The boy wailed and reached for his mother even as she grinned a macabre leer at her victim.

Quinlan deposited the first child just outside an exit, only to return and find the second one gone. He hoped someone had saved her- he prayed someone had saved her.

The air shifted against Quinlan’s ear- he turned to block the blow with the hilt of his saber but the man pulled his punch at the last minute, miscalculated, hit Quinlan’s blade instead.

His scream ripped through Quinlan’s skull as the lightsaber bisected his hand past the wrist- blood and bone gleamed amongst charred flesh, and then an artery broke the cauterized wound and splattered against Quinlan’s chest before the man doubled over.

“He attacked me!” The man screamed, and a pair of brawlers nearby turned. “My hand! My hand!”

“The Jedi attacked Krion!” A woman screamed. “The Republic attacked the Homeworlder! They are on our side!”

“No,” Quinlan said, shaking his head. “I am on neither side-”

But he could not finish his defense before the police barged in, wearing uniforms of both home world and colony. They froze, not knowing who to arrest when it was their leaders who fought and killed.

“Separate everyone,” Quinlan said, striding up to the police and taking command. “This is out of hand. This fight is-”

“No offense, Master Jedi, but we don’t take orders from you,” A policewoman said. She gestured to her men, and then to the opposing force.

And they did their job- they cleared out the room, taking people into custody. It seemed to Quinlan that they, as the ordinary people, were tired of this perpetrated feud. Hopefully, this slaughter would pave the way for a new age for these worlds.

For it was a slaughter- people lay dead and injured on the floor, draped across tables. Somewhere, someone wept and wailed.

Quinlan shuddered, grabbing a table for balance. But the woman who had sat there had left her memories- she had been laughing before the fight broke out, but the anger was there too, dormant. Her husband had told a funny joke, and he stroked her thigh under the table as she laughed-

Quinlan jerked his hand away, sucking in a breath. His power was useful, but he needed to control it. He needed to help-

He knelt down next to a wounded man, reached out to press his hand against the bleeding gash-

The memory-pain ripped through his own chest, dull metal ripping his flesh, and Quinlan jerked his hand back and groaned.

“Center yourself,” he whispered. “Focus.”

He took a deep breath, imagining himself someplace calm- his parents’ balcony, watching the lightning storms high overhead, his father’s hand on one shoulder and Master Tholme’s on the other. He had never been more calm than in that moment, when he had learned he was to be trained in the Force.

He took another breath. The Force was the sky, the lightning streaking through the clouds. He could take it into himself, or he could let it pass through him into the ground.

And he let the memories pass through and pressed his hands against the wound, only to find that the man’s chin lolled back limply. He had died in those moments Quinlan hesitated.

He would have died anyways then- Quinlan let the tragedy pass through him and moved onto the next injury- this woman- barely more than a teenager- had hope. She shrieked at Quinlan to get away and he held up his hands innocently.

She calmed. He moved closer to start binding her wounds, and she spat at him. “You sided with them,” she snarled, pushing herself up. “You attacked my father!”

Her father- Krion- Quinlan whirled around to find him, only to find that paramedics had already arrived.

He shuddered, shoulders slumping. His job was done here. He needed to contact the Council, tell them how badly he had fucked this up.

The wedding was Quinlan’s idea. He had brought these people together into this powder keg of a room, and then he had been too busy celebrating his own genius to notice when the match had been lit. He didn’t know what to do next- he didn’t know which planetary leaders were alive or dead or injured. Memories kept sparking from his psychometry- phantom pains and bodiless shrieks that broke his focus.

He needed focus. He needed balance.

The emergency services had everything well in hand. Quinlan slipped from the ballroom, walking through the grand hotel until he found an empty hallway of rooms, then walking a bit further. He touched the door of one- it was void of memory except for the maid, so he used a bit of the Force to unlock it and let himself in.

This room was how the other half lived- plush bed and huge ‘fresher and a carpet so thick that Quinlan’s boots sank into it. He left bloody footprints and felt a little bad about that- someone would have to clean them up. So he pulled his boots off, then stripped of his tunics.

Naked, he walked over to the minibar, considered it, then took as many drinks as he could carry. There were a few fancy water glasses by the sink in the shining ‘fresher- Quinlan filled one with tiny premixed cocktails, then dumped in a few shooters of vodka as well. He took the strong, sweet mess to the shower with him and drank it as he rinsed the blood down the drain.

After sitting on the floor of the tub for a bit, arms wrapped around his knees as the water pounded against his back, he got up, shut the water, and wrapped the plush white robe around himself. It was soft and, better yet, new. It carried no memories, blessedly pure, and Quinlan reveled in it.

People had sex on the bed’s comforter once- it was clean, but Quinlan still stripped it away. The sheets were bare of memories, and thick enough that unless he focused, he could not feel the memory of the bed itself.

He would be summoned when he was needed, he knew. And he needed to call the Council. But right now, at this moment, he needed a grounding voice.

He pulled his comlink from his pocket and scrolled up through the names, even as he started unscrewing the cap from another tiny bottle of liquor.

“Knight Vos?” came the immediate answer, a hologram flickering to life. “I’ll admit, I never expected you to contact me. Is everything alright?”

Quinlan paused in struggling with the cap. “Mando Queen? I was looking for Obi-wa- kriff, I have you as Obi-wan’s girl in my contacts. You guys are next to each other. Clumsy fingers.” He laughed. “I’m alright. Living it up in luxury right now.” He panned the comm around the bed so she could see the room. “Is this how you kings and queens always live?”

Satine wrinkled her nose. “In my experience, no, but I do hope you’re enjoying your vacation.”

“Oh, I’m not on vacation. I’m on mission.” He chuckled, and gestured to the blooming black eye, though he wasn’t sure if it would show up on her end of the call.

“That looks painful, Quinlan.” Satine tilted her head. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, yeah- don’t give me that look. I’m not gonna hide a stab wound and then pass out like Obi always does.”

“Hide- he does what?”

“Nothing!”

Satine eyed him for another minute. “If you are sure that you’re alright.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good- hey, though, Mandalore’s closer to where I am than Coruscant. You mind if I stop by to refuel on my way back? I have a feeling that they might actually, you know, hate me a little here.”

“Hate you? Yes, of course I’ll grant you clearance. But what did you do, Quinlan?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Quinlan went back to trying to get the cap off the bottle. He gave up, then tossed it away. It hit the rim of the trash and bounced off. “Somebody punched my lightsaber. I didn’t attack them, whatever the news will say. Just saying. People are crazy.”

“Somebody punched your lightsaber?”

“Yes!” Quinlan threw a hand up in the air. “Somebody kriffing punched my lightsaber. Listen- I dunno what they’re gonna say about me. But they’ll probably call me a Republic attack dog again and then show the guy’s mutilated hand- it’s pretty gnarly.”

Satine stared at him for a long moment. “That sounds like quite the mission,” she finally said.

Quinlan shrugged. “All in a day’s work for the Jedi. I gotta shoot the Council a call now- maybe I’ll see you when I stop by, maybe not. It’s been real, your highness.”

“I’m not a queen,” Satine said with a little smile.

Quinlan saluted her anyways and hung up. He shook his head at the absurdity of the call, then checked his contacts again, this time making certain that he hit Obi-wan’s name.

“Quin?”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Quinlan said. “How’s it going? Garen’s party is all planned out?”

The flickering hologram of Obi-wan flickered- the distance was greater to Coruscant. He was shirtless, lightsaber in hand- the hologram flickered around the blade, not quite able to transmit the light. “I’ve thought about it,” Obi-wan said.

“Are you training, or what? Ani there?”

Obi-wan shook his head and deactivated his saber. “No- just me. It’s late here, which you would know if you actually checked. I could have been sleeping.”

“But you’re not.” Quinlan sat up straighter, crossing his legs. “So tell me what drama I’ve missed.”

Obi-wan studied him for a long moment. “How goes the mission?”

Quinlan chuckled and waved a hand.

“Ah,” Obi-wan said.

“Yep,” Quinlan said.

“Bant said not to invite Tiplee,” Obi-wan said. “So that’s… as far as I’ve gotten. There’s still time.”

“Ah. There a reason that you’re beating up training droids at midnight then?” Quinlan reached out in the Force for the shooter of vodka that he’d thrown away, then thought better of it. He felt calmer already- Obi-wan was a bundle of nerves himself, but even through hologram, he exuded calm towards others. It was like he sucked everyone else’s worries into himself.

Quinlan was using that calm right now to right himself, but he would make it up to Obi-wan when he got back to Coruscant. Buy him a few drinks, take him for a fun night out- there was an opening of a new exhibit at the natural history museum. They could dress in fancy clothes and sip fancy cocktails and pretend to be fancy academics studying the curiosities.

He voiced that much to Obi-wan, who considered the proposal. “That does sound fun,” he admitted after he had battled with the responsible part of his brain. “Perhaps if time presents itself.”

“Yeah, yeah, man, we’ll play it by ear.” Quinlan leaned back into his hands. “How’s Aayla?”

“She is well. She’s taken Anakin under her wing, somewhat. Enough that I feel more confident seeing him go off with the initiates.” He swallowed. “I have a story about Anakin-”

There were running feet down the hall, and someone pounded on the door. “Jedi!” screamed an angry voice. “Stop hiding! Krion demands your head!”

“Kriff, man, they found me.” Quinlan hung up on Obi-wan and shoved the comm into the pocket of the plush robe.

“Jedi! We know you’re there!”

He hesitated at his pile of bloody robes, then grabbed his utility belt and clipped it on over the hotel bathrobe. He paused only a moment to admire the ridiculous effect in the full length mirror- he was chaos incarnate, and he loved it.

Just to prove that, he ran- he threw the Force out to shatter the window before him and leapt from the hotel room into open air.

Down below, emergency lights flashed and first responders milled about. Quinlan narrowed his eyes, heartbeat slowing, time stretching molasses-slow, as he considered the air rushing past his face, the lack of soft landing below, the enemies who milled about. He picked his spot- an empty spot of pavement, and folded his limbs close to speed his fall.

Above, the teenage girl leaned out the window and screamed after him. “You’re DEAD, JEDI!”

-

Right? It’s insane, the missions they put me on. I mean, these guys were gonna go to war whether I helped them or not. But that’s me, Knight Vos, the last ditch guy. I swear on my dead mom, the Council wants me dead. It’s because I’m too smooth and sexy. They’re all attracted to me and it makes them feel insecure about their Code.

But look, I’m pretty good at the last ditch stuff. I’m good under pressure, you know? Like, right now, I’m probably falling to my death, and I’m holding a conversation with you. So hey, how’s it going? Get back to the story? Okay, okay. Hell, I’m just trying to lighten things up. I mean, you’ve had to deal with Obi-wan’s melodramatic ass for-

OKAY, kriff, fuck, I’ll stop interrupting.

-

The Force bloomed around him. He was one with the earth and sky and he touched down in the middle of the paramedics with the grace of a dancer.

He had landed amidst the colonists. “Master Jedi,” one of them said- he was a higher-up from in the wedding. Blaster burns marked his formal tunic and his lip was fat from a fist to the mouth. “You escaped. Thank you for joining our cause.” He bowed deep. “We are in your debt. With Krion incapacitated, we will soon be able to win this-”

“Wait, man, nope.” Quinlan held up his hands, disengaged lightsaber hilt dangling from one of them. “I didn’t take any sides. I’m on both your sides. Genuinely figured that wedding would make you guys kinda come together. You’re all one people, I mean, kriff, I’m a Jedi but I’m still Kiffar. What happened to a sense of family? Loyalty?”

The man- his name was Armion and he wasn’t the governor, but he was up there. Chief advisor or something of that sort- frowned. “I was under the impression that you had planned the wedding for us to finally strike our enemy down.”

Quinlan’s jaw dropped. “Okay, no,” he said when he’d gotten over his shock. “No! Wait- were those two even in love? Listen man, I just wanted a tragic romance to become a bonding thing for your two worlds.”

“Lalior is on the side of the colony, and her father,” Armion said, tilting his chin up. “She was willing to play along with the charade to free our people.”

-

Okay, okay, this is boring shit. Basically, long story short, turned out I was fucking played by both sides. The Homeworlders were going bankrupt because they refused to pay Republic taxes, so they lost a lot of Republic benefits. I knew that, but nobody knew how much they hated the Republic.

Which, side note, I kinda get? I mean, our government is kinda useless. Gives me a headache every time I go into the Senate, so I just don’t anymore. Like, just do something? I get the deliberation and shit- you can’t make everyone happy, duh. But also, there’s so much corruption that you can literally feel it dripping down your spine when you get close. Ugh, I really hate my super power when I walk in there. Bad deals everywhere.

Sorry, that’s not important. Okay, where was I? Right. So Homeworlders hate the Republic, and that means they hate the Jedi too- although attack dog wasn’t a very creative insult, but whatever. But the colonists are jonesing for a spot in the Republic. So they thought I was sent to help them become independent, and the Homeworld just thought I was meddling in their affairs, and both sides thought I was on the colony side.

Which isn’t TRUE but whatever. I can already feel the beating Yoda’s gonna give me. Isn’t that corporal punishment? I mean, if I hit Aayla with a stick, then they’ll be like, oh you’re a bad master you fucking piece of shit, but if Yoda hits me with a stick it’s like, hurr hurr hurr cute old goblin man hits Quin. Double standards, I say.

But anyways, the point is, the colonists were not happy to figure out that I wasn’t actually exclusively on their side. Now they’re pissed at the Jedi too, even though I tried to tell them it was my fuckup and not Yoda’s… who apparently they talked to personally? I mean, what gives? That feels like information Yoda should have told me.

Anyways, I did kinda lean towards the colonists when I started out. They seemed all fun and scrappy and new and I like an underdog. But now they’re pissed at me and telling me I should probably just butt out, and maybe send a better Jedi in my place.

They are not gonna leave me a good review, I’m telling you now.

-

He had been hoping for Master Koon when he commed back to Coruscant with his ship’s communications, but he ended up with Master Windu. And Windu did not look happy. His arms were crossed and his mouth was set in a thin line.

“Vos,” he said.

Quinlan grimaced. “So, you, uh, heard what happened?”

Windu nodded sharply and waited, silent, for Quinlan to explain.

Quinlan hmmed and hawed for a few minutes. “Okay, so,” he said, focusing on Windu’s flickering feet rather than his face. “I wanted to, you know, bring the two worlds together. And these two princesses were in love, right? So I thought maybe if we focused on that- you know, use their love and union as a political statement and an emotional one. I mean it’s worked before, right? On other worlds? That’s the whole point of political marriages, and these two were actually in love, I thought.” He took a breath. “But it turned out I was kriffing naïve, man. They played me. It just turned into a mess and now they all hate me and I probably fucked up any chance of them actually trusting the Jedi. So like, sorry, I guess.” He shrugged pitifully.

Windu considered him for a long moment, so long that Quinlan thought that maybe the hologram had frozen. But then the Councilor shook his head. “Unfortunately, they played all of us. Your reports were thorough and accurate if… colorful, and nobody foresaw any impending issues with your plan.”

Quinlan looked up hopefully. Maybe Windu wouldn’t chew him out.

“Your reaction to this unexpected incident, however, was unacceptable.” Windu’s frown deepened. “I am looking at a recording of a live broadcast and, to be frank, what the fuck were you thinking?”

-

Freeze that frame- yeah, that’s right. You’re seeing a onetime event of Quinlan Vos hanging his head like a kicked puppy.

Now forget you saw anything.

-

“I guess I panicked,” Quinlan muttered. “I thought they were done with me, and then they wanted to kill me, so I ran.”

“You did not just run.” Windu’s crossed arms tightened. His frown became deep lines. “You panicked, ran, then made a fool of yourself. It is one thing to make a mistake, Quinlan. It is quite another to claim that you had no idea what was going on and then make a scene. I have three complaints here about you- ah, four now. A private diplomatic incident has now become an incident that the Republic must alleviate.”

Quinlan nodded a little. He knew he fucked up. He deserved the lecture.

“Do you understand?”

Quinlan nodded again.

Windu stared at him. Even with the distance between them, Quinlan imagined he could feel the Councilor’s wrath.

“The good news, is that their people have opened up peace talks with each other in the light of their leaders’ atrocities. We are sending another team to oversee and to repair the damage to our reputation.”

Quinlan nodded. He thought his neck might get stuck nodding forever.

There was silence for a moment. Finally Windu said, “You have much to learn, Vos, but you are a competent knight. Until your grand finale, your decisions were sound. Had we known that this mission would turn in the direction it did, we would have sent you with backup. That was a failure on our part.”

Quinlan glanced up, biting the inside of his lip.

“Return to the Temple. Have the healers look you over. And then report to the kitchens. You can reconsider your actions while scrubbing dishes.”

Quinlan grimaced but nodded. He was well-familiar with chores as punishment.

Windu cut the call, and Quinlan slumped back down in the pilot’s seat, dropping his head back. “Krifffffffff,” He moaned to the empty ship. “Why am I like this?”

-

Okay yeah, that’s pretty pathetic, right? Low point, low point, let’s not focus on it. It’s in the past, and we gotta look to the future. And the future… well, reader, that’s gonna be pretty zesty. Let’s just say, even in MY chapter, Obi-wan is still the main character.

-

He kept his plan to refuel on Mandalore, simply because he wanted the change of scenery before going back home and facing everyone’s questions and judgements. There was a fueling station orbiting the planet- he docked there and flipped a few credit sticks to the kid hooking ships up to the fuel lines.

It would be about five hours to fully drain the lines and refuel the tanks and recharge the batteries on the cooling units around the hyperspace generator. Quinlan headed down the tunnel into the main part of the satellite- a cheap little motel and bar-restaurant for the space truckers stopping through.

It was clearly Mando space- half the people were wearing armor, and he felt their eyes fix on him, before returning to their drinks. They were supposed to be pacifist now, but they had all grown up in wartime. Quinlan could sense the aggressive energy that still radiated into the Force.

He strode up to the bar and slapped a credit stick down in front of the bartender, a curvy redhead that made Quinlan want to take a page from Obi-wan’s book of wooing Mandalorians. He didn’t though. He just asked, “Can I hitch a ride planet-side?”

She glanced down at the credit stick and raised an eyebrow. “You’re Jetii” she said, her Mandalorian accent coloring her Basic in a lovely, endearing way.

“Yep. Friends with Kenobi.” He pushed the credit stick over.

The bartender giggled at that, then pocketed the stick. “Check with Maki over there- she’s heading down in a few.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Quinlan smiled brightly.

The bartender’s smile vanished behind a snarl. “Don’t call me sweetheart, Jetii.”

Quinlan blinked at the sudden turnaround, and gave a sharp nod of respect before leaving her to go see Maki. No flirty terms of endearment here- got it.

Maki was a Mando spacer in the truest sense of the word. She was a big lady wearing well-worn armor, and she belched as she eyed Quinlan’s approach. She could rip him in half if she wanted, elite Jedi training or not. She leaned back on two legs of her chair, considering Quinlan like a curiosity.

“Jetii,” she said.

“Hey.” She was confident, but Quinlan was too. He took the chair opposite from her, swinging it around to sit backwards, and rested his chin on his hand. “Quinlan Vos, friends with Kenobi, who’s friends with the Duchess. Looking for a lift down to Sundari.”

She huffed, considering him. “Friends with Kenobi, eh? That skinny thing that followed the Duchess around? Seemed like a good kid.” She shrugged. “Buy me a drink, and there might be space in my cab for you.”

Quinlan saluted her and hopped up.

The bartender glowered at him when he approached. “I’m not serving you.”

Ah, this was going to be a problem. He felt Maki’s attention on him, a prickling of tangible amusement. She’d seen him piss off the bartender. Probably thought this was funny.

“I apologize for my unfortunate choice in words,” Quinlan said. “It was meant as no disrespect, and it won’t happen again. Forgive me- I’m from the Core, and we are looser with such phrases. But I will make a conscious effort not to slip like that again. You deserve to be addressed respectfully.”

The bartender’s frown deepened. She crossed her arms. “Nope.”

Quinlan pursed his lips. He had tried Obi-wan’s way- now he would try his own.

“Honestly, I think you’re stunning,” he said. “That’s why I called you sweetheart. I won’t call you that again, but that’s why. So, can I get a drink for Maki over there?”

She considered that, eyeing him. “If you keep your mouth shut, you’re not bad yourself,” she said after a long moment. Then she turned away to fill a glass with some sort of dark beer.

Quinlan pushed a credit stick onto the bar. “Keep the change,” he said to her, and hastily made his escape before he could make her mad again.

“She likes you,” Maki said when she had accepted the beer and taken a deep quaff of it. “Thought she’d kick you out.”

“It’s the Jedi charm.” Quinlan winked dramatically. “We might be monks, but we know a thing or two.”

Maki finished the glass in a second large gulp and slammed it down on the table. “No offense, kid, but I like a man with a little more meat on his bones than you. Let’s go. Drop you in Sundari before I head home.”

-

A little more meat? I’m not skinny. I mean, look at me, I’m built! The hell is she talking about? Sorry most of the Jedi workouts are toning instead of bulking. Listen, lady, we’re dancers, not lifters.

I mean, not that I was into the spacer. But I mean, any Mando is hot. Okay? It’s just like, part of their nature.

But anyways, the ride down was boring. Fast forward to getting dropped off.

-

He only had to ask directions twice to find his way to the main palace, and his walk through the city told him one thing- Satine’s people really liked squares. Quinlan didn’t really get the aesthetic, but it was certainly an Aesthetic.

The guards stopped him at the front gate, demanding his business through their faceless masks. Quinlan couldn’t see their eyes through their visors. He wondered how they saw- probably internal monitors, or something of the sort.

“I’m here to see the Duchess,” he said. “Quinlan Vos, friends with Kenobi.”

One of the guards made a noise like a snort. The other looked over sharply.

“What?” Quinlan asked.

“Nothing,” the guard said, her voice tight with mirth. “You’re cleared- go on in.”

“Stop laughing,” the other guard said as Quinlan passed.

“I’m trying,” squeaked the first guard. “It’s just so funny. Kenobi.”

“Shut up,” growled the second guard.

Quinlan raised an eyebrow and walked through the main hall, hoping for someone to show up to give him directions. As fun as wandering and snooping would be, he didn’t have much time before he had to get back to the orbiting fueling station.

He didn’t have long to wait. Only a few moments later, he sensed Satine’s presence. She appeared from one of the doorways, dressed almost casually in a dark blue tunic and embroidered leggings. Her hair was pulled back in a low knot.

“Quinlan,” she said with a little smile. “It’s good to see you- come in.”

“I’m just popping by.” He gestured. “I’ll have to get heading back to Coruscant.”

“And I only have a few minutes myself.” She smiled. “Enough time for refreshments, I would assume.”

“Always.” Quinlan grinned and walked up to her. She reached out to shake his hand.

Her memories and worries were so close to the surface. He didn’t mean to read her. He really didn’t. But the visions flashed through his head like a powerpoint of oops.

Sexy times with Obi-wan – I have to pee so much am I really drinking that much water? – Running from an early morning meeting, sick, a handmaid holding her hair back – no no no this can’t be – To tell him or not to tell him? – I want Buir I miss Buir he would know what to do – Qui-gon’s strong, gentle energy – Fuck Quinlan is showing up, Jedi aren’t that magic right? They’re not witches. They can’t just tell with a handshake-

Quinlan ripped his hand back, staring at her.

She jerked her hand back at the sudden motion, eyebrows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Quinlan opened and closed his mouth once. Finally he said, “I’m gonna be an uncle?”

-

RIGHT? RIGHT? Okay, out of ALL OF US, who did you think would be the one to knock someone up? I had my money on Garen. I mean, I have my fun, but I’m careful. But Garen, well, eh, he can be a little… careless. But that doesn’t matter! Because it was fucking OBI-WAN. I mean, Obi-wan’s got an absolute stick shoved up his ginger ass. He’s so careful about everything-

I mean, okay, I guess he looked pretty crazy on that footage where he was fighting the Sith. And sometimes he does do crazy things. But he talks like he’s sane, and he acts so careful normally…

But oh MAN he’s gonna have an absolute aneurysm when he figures this one out.

Shit, wait, he might actually leave the Jedi for this.

Wait… he might.

Ah hell, I don’t want him to leave. He’s probably my best friend. Dammit. Eh, but he’s got Anakin, so maybe he’ll stick around? Maybe we can make an agreement with Satine. We get Obi-wan for weekdays and every other Life Day, and she gets him for weekends…

-

Satine’s eyes widened. She took a step back. “What?” she asked, like she didn’t know what Quinlan was talking about. But from the panic in the Force, she clearly did know.

“Hey, hey sweethea- Satine, no worries from me.” He held out his hands like he was showing that he had no weapons. “No judgies here. Just surprised. Congratulations! Boy or girl?”

She stared at him, bit her lip, glanced around. “Can we… have this conversation in private?”

“Sure, sure, lead the way!” Quinlan smiled brightly, trying to exude calm in the Force. But that was tricky- the more he thought about it, the more excited he became. Thirteen years before the kid would need a Jedi master (of COURSE they would be Force sensitive), and Aayla would be knighted by then most likely… yeah, the timing was perfect.

Quinlan followed Satine through the palace halls, considering possibilities. A Mando-Jedi baby. The thing would be badass. Probably barely human- just all of Obi-wan’s unearthly instincts and Satine’s awesome inner strength. And Quinlan would of course be the godfather. He’d take the kid out to all the places. Teach him all the stuff.

Satine opened the door to her own chambers, let Quinlan in, then closed it behind her. She turned stiffly to him. “Would you like caf? I could put on a pot.”

Quinlan shook his head. “No, no, I’m alright.” He took a seat on one of her chairs and grinned. “Tell me everything.”

She stood there, chewing on her lip, and considering Quinlan like he was about to jump up and bite her. He waited.

When she still didn’t speak, he tilted his head a little. “Look, I mean it. I’m the best possible Jedi to figure this out. It was probably the will of the Force that I come here right now, honestly. No judgement. I won’t breathe a word to the Council. Or… to Obi-wan either, I guess, if you’re not telling him. You should tell him, though. He’d be a great dad.”

She nodded slightly, still spooked.

“And I only knew because I have… I’m from Kiffu, and some of us have this power where we can read the memories of something we touch. It’s just stronger with me, because I have the Force too. Sometimes it catches me by surprise. So you don’t have to worry about another Jedi just knowing. Until the kid gets bigger, if they’re gonna be Force sensitive.”

Quinlan gestured to the other chair, like he was inviting her in. “So you can relax with me. Promise. Remember when I said we were friends? I meant that.”

She hesitated, but then perched tensely on the edge of the chair. “It was an accident,” she said in a tiny voice, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I figured that much,” Quinlan said with a little chuckle.

She chewed on her lip again. “There’s people here to help me. I have cousins.”

“Okay,” Quinlan said, doing his best to keep his tone low and gentle. “That’s good. You have a plan.”

Satine nodded, sinking back in the chair a little, still tightly hugging herself. “I… need to have an heir anyways. Anything can happen. So… perhaps it was the… will of the Force.” She made a little face at that. “Or perhaps we were simply too careless.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Quinlan said with a little smile. “And, using my best friend powers here, I know Obi-wan had a good time being careless.”

She made a face.

“Okay, okay, stepped over a line.” Quinlan raised his hands innocently. “Are you going to tell him? Again, no judgies, promise.”

Her fingers curled to tight fists. She looked out towards the window, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know yet.”

“Okay. That’s okay.” Quinlan reached out and touched her arm. “Do you want advice, or do you want me to fuck off?”

She glanced from the window to him, searching his face. “I don’t… I don’t want to force him into something. He’s a Jedi. He loves the Jedi. Right?”

Quinlan nodded. He wouldn’t lie. “He loves his friends and Qui-gon and little Ani, yeah. But none of us would write him off for choosing you, if that helps your decision. It wouldn’t be like, sacrificing us for you.”

She nodded slightly, then grimaced. “I’m sorry- you stopped here for caf after a hard mission, and I’ve only piled more onto your plate. That black eye looks painful. I have bacta patches around.”

She started to stand, but he waved her back down. “I’ve already put some gel on it. I just put it on too late and it got puffy. Don’t you dare apologize, Satine. You’re the mother of my godbaby, and I won’t have you feeling bad for that.”

Satine raised an eyebrow, and then the corner of her mouth quirked upwards. “Your godbaby?”

Quinlan grinned. “I hope that’s not overstepping? I’m just staking my claim now.”

“It’s a bit soon for that, Quinlan,” she said.

“But you’ll keep me in mind?”

Satine considered him for a long moment. “Perhaps,” she finally said.

“That’s all I ask.” Quinlan got up. “You got enough time for a quick lunch before your next meeting? I’m starving.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I have a few more minutes, if you can handle Mandalorian food without crying at the spice.”

“My dear, I’m not Obi-wan,” Quinlan said, standing. “I’m much tougher than him.”

-

 RIGHT? OKAY, SO YOU SEE MY ISSUE NOW?

So now I have to go back to Coruscant, with this massive secret. Obi-wan’s secret baby. I hope Satine kriffing tells him, because A) I had a good dad, so I know Obi-wan would be a good dad, and B) I want to teach the kid to be a Jedi!

So I guess Master Qui-gon is gonna head to Mandalore at some point to help her out with some government stuff. I hope she caves and tells him, because he’ll be better at talking sense into her than I am. I mean, obviously I’m not gonna tell Obi-wan or Qui-gon, because I’m a good friend, and I want the Duchess to trust me.

But oh man this is just… I seriously did not expect Obi-wan of all people to knock someone up. That’s actually hilarious. 

Chapter Text

“Okay, so there’s Obi-wan.” Jakka tapped her finger against the lunch table. “And he’s friends with Quinlan Vos, but he already picked Aayla. He’s also friends with Luminara Unduli and Knight Ti, who don’t have padawans.”

“His friend Garen is taking his trials this week,” Vim-qel added in. “But don’t ask him. I want to. I think I want to be a pilot too. Fly everywhere, explore everything…”

“Wait, that’s a job you can do?” Anakin knew that technically the Jedi had other jobs, but Obi-wan hadn’t really gotten into that. And Obi-wan didn’t love piloting.

“Yeah, but you’ve already got Obi-wan,” Vim-qel said. “So you’re going to be a Knight.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want to trade?”

“Ooh, I’ll take Obi-wan if you want Garen,” Jakka said quickly. “I love his lessons. I’m always sore for days after. And he helped me stop tripping up in that one Ataru kata the other day.”

“You can’t trade,” Vim-qel shot back. “This is a trade between Anakin and I-“

“I’m not trading Obi-wan,” Anakin said, shaking his head. “I was just wondering.”

“Fine,” Jakka said, good-naturedly. She sighed, then took a melancholy bite of her sandwich. “I wish someone had picked me when I was a kid. Then I wouldn’t have to hunt around now. I feel like the closer I get, the more I can’t focus.”

“It’s worse for me,” Vim-qel said. “You’re only ten. I’m eleven. I only have two years.”

“But you have the second highest midichlorian count of our year,” Jakka pointed out, pouting over her sandwich. “I’m just average. If nobody picks me, I probably won’t even get into one of the good Corps. I’ll just end up in Agricorps.” She huffed and dropped her chin to her hand.

“I can’t imagine you as a farmer,” Vim-qel said, smirking a little. “You’re way too impatient.”

“I could be patient if I had to,” Jakka shot back. “Besides, I’d look good in a big floppy farmer hat.”

“Would you?” Vim-qel took a sip of his milk as he appraised Jakka. “Or are you just telling yourself that to make yourself feel better?”

Jakka narrowed her eyes. “You want to say that again on the sparring mats?”

“Maybe I will,” Vim-qel said, tossing his head back.

But Anakin knew the challenge wasn’t wise. Jakka had started sneaking lessons from Obi-wan, showing up when she knew that Anakin would be practicing with him. Anakin didn’t mind- it was fun to have someone else there too, and sometimes they had some epic three way spars, or two-on-one.

He knew there were multiple reasons she had started hanging around- she was hoping for practice, because she genuinely wanted to be good. She was hoping that one of Obi-wan’s knight friends would notice her. And she liked hanging out with Obi-wan and Anakin. She said their banter was hilarious.

But she was focused, practicing for hours. There was a quiet desperation to her forms as she worked to smooth and perfect them. She moved like a dancer, and she danced for the Jedi, praying she was brave enough and graceful enough and perfect enough to be worthy.

A farmer’s life loomed over her head if she failed.

“Right now?” She shoved the rest of her sandwich into her mouth and stood up. “I’m game if you are.”

Vim-qel couldn’t back down from such an obvious challenge. He stood up as well, drawing his lightsaber. “Yes right now,” he said, and turned towards the door.

They abandoned their trays and ran, racing for the gyms. But they didn’t make it that far- Anakin heard lightsabers igniting in the hallway.

He threw away their trays for them, then followed at a slower trot. Someone else came up alongside him- it was Shama. “Are they fighting again?” He asked Anakin.

Anakin glanced at a scorch mark along the wall. “Yeah.”

Shama shook his head. “He needs to stop goading everybody into fights. He already has a high midichlorian count. He doesn’t need to be the best duelist too.”

Ever since he’d made his lightsaber, Shama had seemed cooler, a little more confident. Anakin shot him a sidelong look. It was the mystery of Ilum again- it had given Shama a semblance of peace, but it had thrown Obi-wan off the rails for a week. Anakin wondered what it would do to him.

Lightsabers hummed around the next corner, and then Vim-qel cried out in hurt frustration. Anakin darted forward, followed closely by Shama.

Jakka had pinned Vim-qel, a knee on his chest, lightsaber to his throat. “Say I’d look good in a farmer’s hat!”

“No!”

“Say it!”

Shama glanced over at Anakin, raising a bright white brow. Anakin shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

“I’m not saying it!” Vim-qel shouted, tilting his chin up away from her blade.

Running footsteps from around the opposite hall, and Anakin’s favorite teacher, Asa Lee appeared. “No fighting in the hallways,” she snapped. “All of you, with me.”

Anakin melted backwards, away from her. But she locked onto him. “All of you,” she repeated.

“Anakin and Shama weren’t fighting,” Jakka said, hopping off Vim-qel. She held her chin high, lekku flexed with her tension. “We broke the rules, but they didn’t.”

“They were bystanders,” Lee said, crossing her arms. “They stood by while-“

They all froze at the sound of a cane tapping at the ground. Anakin grit his teeth, fighting the urge to groan. He didn’t want to deal with Yoda right now. Usually, if Yoda was involved, Obi-wan acted as a barrier between them. But there was no Obi-wan here right now.

“Master Yoda,” Lee said, bowing her head as Yoda came around the corner.

Yoda stopped and considered them all. “Guilty, you look,” he said.

Lee nodded. “I came across the initiates fighting in the halls. Initiate Balon had her lightsaber to Initiate Mar’lo’s throat.”

“He said-,” Jakka interrupted, head still high.

Yoda hummed, and she fell silent. Vim-qel didn’t even try to defend himself. He just stood with his head bowed, throat a little red where Jakka’s blade had been so close to his skin.

“Fight each other, you should not,” Yoda said, fixing his eyes on Lee. “Youthful exuberance, I wish I had. But aggression… anger…” He turned towards Jakka sadly. “Tolerate that, we cannot.”

Jakka’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t angry- we were joking- tell them!” She turned towards Vim-qel, eyes wide.

But Vim-qel remained silent, eyes fixed on the floor. Anakin stepped in instead. “I saw the whole thing,” he said, stepping up beside her. “They were just screwing around.”

“She had her blade to his throat,” Lee said, shaking her head slightly. “That is a bit more than ‘just screwing around.’”

“They were!” Anakin said, drawing himself up to stand next to Jakka. He didn’t care about Vim-qel that much, but he wasn’t going to see Jakka get in trouble over stupid bickering. She would never really hurt Vim-qel, and if anybody thought she would, then they were karking loca.

Yoda considered them all. Finally, he grunted. “Kitchen duty, for those who fight in the halls,” he said to Jakka and Vim-qel. Then he turned to Anakin. “With me, you should come.”

“He wasn’t fighting!” Jakka said, eyes widening. “He shouldn’t be in-”

“In trouble, your friend is not.” Yoda said, ears perking towards Jakka. “Speak with him, I must.”

Anakin’s mouth went dry. He glanced at Jakka, then back to Yoda. “Do you want me to get Obi-wan…?”

Yoda shook his head. “Your master, I do not need. Wish to see you, I do.”

Anakin tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. “Okay…” he said, wishing that Lee wasn’t there to see him follow pathetically behind Yoda. He couldn’t straight up refuse, though he wanted to. Anakin knew that Obi-wan had stuck his neck out for Anakin before. He didn’t want to do anything that would get Obi-wan in trouble again.

Yoda led him off down the hall at his slow pace, cane clicking on the floor. Anakin was taller than him, but he could sense Yoda’s immense age and power. He wondered if Yoda even needed the stupid cane. He wanted to ask why Yoda needed to see him, but the words stuck in his throat.

Yoda led him through a doorway and onto a balcony overlooking the Fountain room- the air smelled warm and green up here, closer to the sun-lights. Anakin preferred the heat, but the humidity immediately made dots of sweat bead on his skin.

“Talk to you, I have wanted to, for some time now,” Yoda said, taking a seat on a bench. “A good opportunity, this seemed. Settling into the Temple, are you?”

Anakin swallowed. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Yes, Master,” he corrected himself an instant later, shaking his head.

Yoda studied him, and the feeling was heavy in the Force. Anakin stood on the balcony, feeling like a bug about to be dissected. But Yoda didn’t rip into him- he only gestured to the bench beside him.

“Your new master,” Yoda said. “How fares he?”

“He’s good,” Anakin said, gingerly sitting on the bench. It felt wrong, somehow, to sit with Yoda like a companion instead of an old Jedi Master. He was afraid of saying something wrong.

“Hmm. Teaches you well, he does?”

“Yes, Master.” The words grated on Anakin’s tongue, but they needed to be said. He didn’t mind calling Obi-wan master. It felt like master-teacher when he used it for Obi-wan. But with the old Councilors, it felt like master-master, and it made Anakin’s stomach clench.

Yoda nodded again, still considering Anakin with that heavy gaze. “Powerful in the Force, you are,” he finally said, apparently cutting right to the chase. “Feel it, you do?”

Anakin blinked, then bit his lip and shrugged. “It just feels normal to me,” he said, not quite sure what else to say.

“But normal, you are not,” Yoda said, shaking his head. “Strong, your connection is. Hone it, you must, and yet…”

Anakin swallowed again, clenching his fists in his sleeves. He didn’t know if Yoda was mad at him for being powerful or not. It wasn’t like it was his choice to be strong. And he knew that he had managed to knock out Obi-wan, but he still didn’t remember that. He hated that he was awesomely strong. It meant everybody looked at him weird. 

“Meditate with you, I would like,” Yoda said. “To better understand you, I would.”

“Um…” Anakin hesitated. “Yeah. I can ask Obi-wan when he’s free-”

“Taught young Obi-wan, I once did,” Yoda said, voice colored with amusement. “His permission, we do not need.”

Meditating with Yoda alone sounded terrifying though. Anakin imagined it- the Grandmaster himself flipping through Anakin’s thoughts like the pages of one of Obi-wan’s books. He would find so many things unbecoming of a Jedi- fear and love and feelings and all the things that Jedi weren’t supposed to do. And he’d probably get Obi-wan in trouble too, if he thought about Satine too loudly, or the fact that Obi-wan actually cared about people and stuff. Or Qui-gon, who did what he wanted. Anakin had been here long enough to know that Qui-gon had broken a lot of rules in bringing Anakin here.

He wasn’t a snitch.

“No thank you,” he said.

He immediately knew that was the wrong thing to say. Yoda’s ears pricked and his focus sharpened suddenly. Anakin shrank into himself, fixing his gaze on the floor between them.

“Help you to understand, I wish to,” Yoda said, cocking his head slightly. “To learn, don’t you wish?”

Anakin nodded slightly. “Yes, Master.”

“Then refuse, why do you?”

Anakin grit his teeth. He was not a slave anymore, he reminded himself. Obi-wan told him all the time, he was free to do as he wanted. He usually chose to do what Obi-wan said, but it was only because he liked Obi-wan. He didn’t like Yoda, and Yoda didn’t like him. He didn’t want to open his brain to Yoda.

But he didn’t know how to explain that either. So he just shrugged his shoulders a little and hoped Yoda wouldn’t hate him.

“Powerful, you are,” Yoda finally said. “Injured your master, you did. To learn about your powers, I wish.”

“He’s okay now,” Anakin said sharply, looking up. “I didn’t mean to! I don’t even remember doing it.”

“Hmm,” Yoda hummed, and Anakin wanted to run away, He had already screwed this up, and their conversation hadn’t even gone for five minutes. But what else was he supposed to do? Just meditate with Yoda and let the old master know all his secrets? No way.

He wished Obi-wan were here.

“I didn’t mean to,” Anakin repeated, hoping he sounded as earnest as he felt. “I don’t even know how I did it.”

“And determine that, I must.” Yoda narrowed his eyes, attention still heavy on Anakin’s psyche. “An anomoly you are, young Skywalker. Too old, too scared, you are, and yet…” he tilted his head. “Strong in the Force, you are. Balance, you may yet bring.”

Anakin shook his head. “I don’t know anything about balance,” he said. “I know about that prophecy, but I don’t think that’s me.” He swallowed hard. “Sorry,” he added a second later.

“But to know for certain, you desire?” Yoda asked.

Anakin felt like his stomach was dropping out of his body. He wanted to run away. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be balancing,” he finally said. “Obi-wan killed the Sith, not me. You should ask him if he’s the Chosen One.”

“Powerful, Obi-wan is,” Yoda mused. “Sensitive to the Force, he is. But as strong as you or I, he is not. The Chosen One, he is not.”

Anakin winced inwardly at that. He didn’t want to be lumped in with Yoda- he was nothing like Yoda. Yoda was powerful and old and the ultimate Jedi. Anakin was just… Anakin. And he was Obi-wan’s padawan, not Yoda’s.

He slid off the bench, back to his feet. He knew running away would be worse, but he couldn’t stay still here. “Obi-wan is strong,” he said. “He’s my master.”

“Yes,” Yoda said, inclining his head. “Know this, I do. Taught him, I did. Of his strength and conviction, proof we have seen. But as strong as you, he is not.”

“I don’t care,” Anakin said, jutting his chin out defensively. “Look, whatever your midichlor-whatevers say. Obi-wan killed the Sith. Obi-wan did, not you or me or anybody else. I don’t know what the prophecy means, but I do know that I wanna learn from Obi-wan. So… I’m sorry… I guess.” He dropped his hands. “I wanna figure out the Force before I try to do any prophecy. I’m only a kid.” He sucked in a breath.

The sun-lights were warm overhead, and birds flittered about the gardens below them, but Yoda was not distracted. He continued to study Anakin. “Bound to young Obi-wan, you are,” he said after a long moment. “Connected in the Force, you are. See it, we all do. To fight it, I do not wish. Only to understand, I desire.”

Anakin bit his lip and nodded.

Yoda held his gaze for a moment longer, then dropped it down to the gardens far below them. “Dismissed, you are,” he said. “Meditate myself, I must.”

Anakin didn’t need to be told twice. He walked stately back to the hall, and as soon as he was out of Yoda’s line of sight, he ran.

…

Obi-wan sat cross-legged on the floor of his new quarters, his lightsaber in pieces before him. He closed his eyes, letting the Force wash over him. He could feel each of the parts. They connected in the Force, from the core of the crystal to the metal connectors to the power flickering through the batteries to the grip itself, already wearing to the shape of his hand.

Once, when he was around Anakin’s age, Bruck had punched Obi-wan and knocked out one of his teeth. It had only been a baby tooth (and Obi-wan had perhaps been goading the other boy a bit), so he had not gone to the healers. Instead, he had just spat out the blood and let the adult tooth come in on its own. But it had taken longer for the tooth to come in, since it had not been ready, and the gap had felt conspicuous in his mouth. During classes, he had been unable to stop running his tongue over the spot.

That was what his lightsaber felt like. There was a gap- nothing vital, as the saber was perfectly functional. But it was obvious, to Obi-wan at least, and he could not determine what it was.

But it was a gap, and like a missing tooth, he could not stop focusing on it. The pieces floated in front of him, drifting around his hands as he called to them, pleaded with them, to tell him what they wanted.

But they were silent. They drifted through the Force, incomplete, and Obi-wan felt that in his own heart. He was missing the piece himself. It wasn’t the lightsaber- it was him…

He raised his hands, the pieces hovering around his fingers.

But what was he missing? His soul was as the lightsaber: intricate pieces clicking into place. Forced in some places, perhaps, natural in others- and there was an empty spot.

That empty spot tormented him. He kept returning to it, like his tongue to that space of the missing tooth. But it was so close. The crystal brushed his fingertips in the air, and the thing he was missing was just that close. All he had to do was grasp it. Like a word on the tip of his tongue, it lingered just out of reach, calling to him-

The door opened, and Anakin’s presence, muted but still bright, swept through the room. Obi-wan’s focus shattered, and the pieces of lightsaber fell to the ground. He opened his eyes, gritting his teeth at his own frustration. He had been close that time.

“Master?”

Obi-wan gathered the pieces together in front of him, pouncing on a nut that had started to roll away. Then he looked up towards Anakin. The boy looked distressed, pulling himself inwards, fists clenched.

“What happened, Padawan?” He moved the parts of his lightsaber to the tiny end table, pushing aside Anakin’s homework assignments and collected mechanical parts.

“What makes you think something happened?” Anakin asked petulantly.

Obi-wan just raised an eyebrow.

Anakin made a face, then dropped his gaze down. He seemed to struggle with himself for a long moment, chewing the inside of his cheek, worrying at the hem of his tunic. Obi-wan pushed himself up to the (disgustingly uncivilized) old couch that had come with the place and waited for Anakin to speak.

“Master Yoda wanted to meditate with me,” he finally said, drawing even deeper into himself. Even his bright glow seemed to fade under his shields. “I didn’t want to, and I think he’s pissed about that.”

Obi-wan blinked. Then he sucked in a little breath. “Ah,” he said, mostly to stall for time. “Did he say about what?”

Anakin shrugged a little. “He wanted to know if I was really the Chosen One, I think, but-”

Obi-wan grit his teeth, and Anakin looked up sharply. “I told him I didn’t want to be the Chosen One!” he said. “I don’t even know what needs balancing in the Force. I barely even know how to use the Force like a real Jedi. Plus, now I’m thinking about it, and you’re the one who killed the Sith, so it’s probably not even me.”

“Anybody could have killed the Sith,” Obi-wan said. “I just happened to be there.” He hesitated, searching for his words. Anakin had to know that Obi-wan was on his side, but he also had to know that he couldn’t be scared of the Council. But Obi-wan didn’t want to force Anakin into anything either.

“You don’t have to fear Master Yoda,” he finally said. “He’s very wise. He could help bring you clarity-”

Anakin shook his head. “He hates me. He’s gonna go through my head.”

“He doesn’t hate you, Anakin.” Obi-wan perched on the edge of the couch. “He used to teach me-”

“Yeah, he said, and he was also talking about how you weren’t as powerful as me,” Anakin said. “Which is bantha-shit, because you literally killed a Sith.” He strode over and flopped on the couch beside Obi-wan. “I don’t want to be the most powerful Jedi,” he said, curling up, back to Obi-wan. “I didn’t even know I was special ‘til I got here. If I’m that strong, I should-”

He cut off.

Obi-wan swallowed, then reached out and touched Anakin’s shoulder. “You should what, Padawan?”

“Free the slaves. Free Mom.” He sniffled a little, and Obi-wan grit his teeth. Anakin had been bright and bubbly when he had left for classes that morning, bouncing in his excitement- there was a mechanics practical exam that morning, and he knew he was going to ace it.

“That’s a noble cause, Anakin,” Obi-wan said softly. He tugged on Anakin’s shoulder, the slightest pressure, trying to get him to turn around.

Anakin responded easily, turning then burrowing under Obi-wan’s arm, up against his ribs. “I just wanna learn so I can help people,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes. “I don’t wanna do some big prophecy.”

Obi-wan reached over with his opposite hand, tilting Anakin’s chin up to look him in the eye. “You are not beholden to any old prophecy, Padawan,” he said. “You are your own man. But you are strong, whether you wish to be or not. It is a burden you must bear, and I am sorry for that.”

Anakin’s eyes filled with tears, and he shook Obi-wan’s hand off and dropped his head to Obi-wan’s shoulder.

“That’s why I’m here,” Obi-wan said, letting the boy have his moment. “We’re going to learn about your power together, and I’ll be with you for every step of the way.”

Anakin nodded, still pressed into Obi-wan’s shoulder. Then he pulled away and rubbed his eyes on his sleeve. “But Yoda’s still pissed at me,” he said in a little voice.

“I’ll talk to him,” Obi-wan promised.

Anakin swallowed hard, then nodded.

Obi-wan waited a moment. “Are you alright now?”

Anakin nodded a little. “There’s a picnic on the roof tonight,” he said, starting to perk up a little. “There’s supposed to be a lunar eclipse, so the Astro class is meeting to see it.”

Obi-wan smiled. “I suppose I won’t see you for dinner then?”

Anakin shook his head.

“Perhaps I’ll bother Qui-gon then,” he said with a little chuckle. “Go on then, Padawan. Have fun with your class.”

“It’s supposed to be really cool,” Anakin said. He wiped his eyes again, all trace of tears gone now. “You should go see it.”

“Perhaps I will,” Obi-wan said with a little smile.

…

He wasn’t calling her for himself. He was calling her for Anakin, and that was different. That was okay. If it made his heart beat all the harder to hear her voice, that was just a side effect. But he was calling on Anakin’s behalf.

“Ben?” Satine asked when she picked up the comm. She only activated the voice. “What’s wrong? I only have a minute, but-"

“I only need a minute,” Obi-wan said, pressing himself back into the corner of the old couch like he would be caught even here. “Nothing’s wrong, Satine. I was only wondering if you had an update on Anakin’s mother.”

“Oh.” Satine was quiet for a minute. “I have one of my people on it, but they haven’t sent an update. I could reach out.”

Obi-wan shook his head, then remembered she couldn’t see him. “No,” he said aloud. “That’s good enough. Thank you, Satine.”

Her name felt like rich red wine on his tongue, like a word to be savored. He wanted to reach through the comm to touch her face, to lean into her touch. He wanted to kiss her, to taste her lips, the slightly sweet gloss she wore, and touch her, run his hands through her white-gold hair-

-as friends, of course. He wanted to do all that, but platonically. As friends. Only friends. Of course.

“Of course, Ben.” But she didn’t cut the call immediately. He heard her quiet breathing. “How is Anakin?”

“He’s good.” Obi-wan said, hand clenching on the comm. “He has a class picnic tonight for a lunar eclipse. I wonder if I should bake something for him to bring? Granted, I don’t know how to bake, but perhaps-“

He was cut off by Satine’s laugh. “You sound like a parent,” she said. “You’ll be going to PTA meetings and parent-teacher conferences next.”

“He’s my apprentice,” Obi-wan said, a little defensively. “And I have gone to talk with his teachers, so-"

“No, no,” Satine cut him off. “It’s sweet, Ben. And I don’t mean sweet in a condescending way, I mean… it’s sweet. You’re good with him. You’re good with children.”

She trailed off, and Obi-wan was left with an oddly empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Thanks… I think,” he said.

She made a little noise. “No, Obi-wan, I… I have to go. I called a recess when I saw your call, but they are beckoning me.”

“Of course,” Obi-wan said.

“I’ll comm you when I have more news on Anakin’s mother,” Satine said. “Thank you for calling. It’s always good to hear your voice.”

“Yours as well,” Obi-wan said, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want their contact to end.

But she cut the call, and he sank down deeper into the cushions, wrapping his arms around himself. He felt empty inside, and he glared at his pile of lightsaber parts on the table. They were missing a piece. He was missing a piece.

He was starting to suspect what that piece was.

…

There were three litters of tookas available on the holonet classifieds within a thirty minute radius of the Temple. Qui-gon certainly didn’t plan on actually visiting any of the advertisements, but there was no harm in just looking.

The first litter had four kits- a black one, two black and white ones, and a mostly white one with a black splotch on one eye. He looked at that one, scrolling through the pictures. He wasn’t tempted at all, of course.

The door opened, and he raised an eyebrow. He had no room for a kit, if Obi-wan kept showing up like this.

“Anakin has a picnic tonight,” Obi-wan said, looking sheepish. “Am I supposed to make something for it?”

Qui-gon blinked and set aside the datapad, swiping away the classifieds so Obi-wan wouldn’t see. “I never cooked for your classes,” he said.

“No, but we were never around the Temple.” Obi-wan tucked his hands into his sleeves. “I know other people brought food- Bant always had cookies from Tahl. Am I supposed to bake, or-...?”

“Tahl baked for Bant’s classes?” Qui-gon blinked and straightened up a bit. “Was I supposed to bake for you?”

“I don’t know! That’s what I’m asking you.” Obi-wan tucked his hands deeper into his sleeves.

Qui-gon rubbed a hand over his beard. “I apologize if I neglected that masterly duty, but I doubt you would have wanted my cooking-“

“I don’t even know if you can bake,” Obi-wan grumbled. “I don’t know if I can bake. Who bakes? Or if I make something, is that trying too hard? What if I make something and it’s terrible? Then he’ll be the Jedi who brought terrible cookies to the lunar eclipse picnic-“

“Padawan,” Qui-gon said, before Obi-wan could rile himself up. He stood up, pressing a hand to his middle to stabilize the quick move. “I’m certain we can find a recipe somewhere easy enough for you to not destroy.”

Obi-wan searched Qui-gon’s face. “You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Qui-gon said, turning to the kitchen. He pulled open the cupboards, considering what he had. “Oh, here- take this to your quarters when you leave.” He set the Mandalorian liquor bottle on the counter for Obi-wan and grimaced. “I would rather not destroy my new organs with it.”

“You’d rather I destroy my organs instead?” Obi-wan asked.

Qui-gon turned with a retort, catching the amused glint in Obi-wan’s eyes. “Feel free to dump it down the drain if you wish to spare yourself.”

“On second thought, I’ll just ask Che to give me a new liver.” Obi-wan trotted to Qui-gon’s side and pulled the bottle closer to the edge of the counter so he would remember to take it.

Qui-gon had some baking supplies- Reeft had used his oven a few times, and always left the extra flour and sugar. He turned to find Obi-wan already had a recipe- apparently he had been thinking about this for at least long enough to find something to make. “You’ll need chocolate chips and baking soda,” he said, peering over Obi-wan’s shoulder. “Go fetch them, Padawan.”

Obi-wan nodded and darted off, letting the door swing shut behind him. Qui-gon watched him go, then leaned against the counter.

He hadn’t known that Tahl baked for Bant’s classes. It was old grief, but sometimes it still surprised him, the way it could well up like blood from an old scar. He covered his mouth and turned from the door lest Obi-wan walk back in.

And now Obi-wan was baking for Anakin’s class, because he had seen Tahl do it.

Qui-gon’s breath shuddered. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and for a moment, he imagined he smelled the parchment in the oldest rooms of the Archives.

But when he turned, it was only Vader. Young, blue-eyed, a Padawan braid hanging down his shoulder. His hand was flesh.

“Who was Tahl?” Vader asked.

Qui-gon turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. “She was… my Satine,” he said softly, hoping that the ghost would understand, that he wouldn’t pry further. “She passed into the Force years ago.”

Vader nodded. “It runs in the lineage,” he said a moment later, and laughed harshly.

Qui-gon rubbed his hands down his face and took a deep breath.

“If it makes you feel better,” Vader said after a moment, “the dead are not far away.”

“And I suppose you are proof of that?” Qui-gon asked, half turning. He felt raw suddenly- Obi-wan hadn’t meant to rip open that old wound, but open it he had.

“No,” Vader said. “You are.”

Qui-gon’s brow furrowed, but before he could ask for elaboration, the door flew open. Obi-wan walked back in, ingredients in his arms, followed closely by Quinlan, who was sporting a nasty black eye.

Vader vanished like he had never been.

“I’m counting baking as kitchen duty,” Quinlan said, striding in. “Hey, Master Qui-gon.” He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, head tilted slightly, then shook himself and turned back towards Obi-wan. “Is Aayla in on this too?”

“I didn’t ask if she was in that class,” Obi-wan admitted, setting the ingredients on the counter. “Do you have a bowl, Master?”

Quinlan picked up the Mandalorian bottle on the edge of the counter, considered the label, then unscrewed it and took a sip. Obi-wan swiped it out of his hands and took a sip as well.

Qui-gon stepped back. “I’ll leave you two to your baking,” he said. “I have an errand to run.”

Obi-wan flicked the recipe open on the datapad and turned. “What errand are you doing?”

“Nothing important,” Qui-gon said with a little incline of his head. “Enjoy having young padawans, both of you. Quinlan, I hope your mission went well.”

Quinlan barked a laugh. “Don’t even ask. And if anybody asks, I’m not back at the Temple yet. I’m putting off kitchen duty.”

“Ah,” Qui-gon said. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“What did you do to get kitchen duty?” Obi-wan asked.

Quinlan groaned obnoxiously. The groan followed Qui-gon out the door as he shut it behind him, letting the knights have free reign of his quarters. Neither of them had a kitchen to themselves.

Was he supposed to have baked for Obi-wan? Unbidden rose the image of baking with Tahl, of wrapping his arms around her waist and flicking flour at her hair as she laughed and pushed him off-

He shoved the daydream away. There was a mostly white tooka kit with a black patch on its eye. Qui-gon was not going to take it, of course, but there was no harm in looking.