#so he stays at the temple in obi-wans quarters and hides in the bedroom when people come over

[mudpuddless]

Lunch in the Kenobi-Skywalker-Tano-and-secretly-also-Fett quarters

(not pictured: one knight Skywalker, a togruta padawan, and a good dozen clone troopers in a variety of jedi clothes playing space-mariokart at increasingly high volumes)

[image ID: a digital drawing centred on Jango Fett, a Maori man in his late thirties, in matching mauve sweatpants and cropped shirt adding chilly powder to a big pan filled with a mushy red rice dish. His hair is greying at the temples and he is smiling slightly. On the left behind him is Obi-wan Kenobi, a pale ginger in his late thirties, wearing a blue cropped shirt and beige wrapped pants, who is walking past Jango while smiling at him, a hand on his arm. At the bottom right of the frame there is Boba Fett, a child looking like Jango at about twelve years old, in a matching blue pullover to Obi-wan's, holding up a flashing datapad, taking a photo. He is scoffing softly at his father. In the background, which is slightly blurry, there is a glass teapot and cups, a hanging multi-tier fruit basket and cabinets. Sunlight is flooding the room. end ID]

based on this fic

#Star Wars #fanart #jangobi #jedi culture #obi wan kenobi #described #AU where jango was frozen in carbonite during the ten years It took to make the clones and immediately adopts them given half a chance #half a chance bc he is still very much wanted by the republic #so he stays at the temple in obi-wans quarters and hides in the bedroom when people come over #but like. Quinlan is living next door and thinks jango Is obi-wans one night stand #its a whole thing #the clones steal anakins clothing bc theyre basically ten year olds with the brain chemistry of teen agers who are also soldiers #so there is a lot of very competent toddler-frat boy kind of disasters #yes I made fan art to fight the writers block its been six months fight me #the hidden king fanfic

[jasontoddiefor]

A gift for @thenegoteator :D

It took a Temple to raise a child, and Mace Windu was very much aware of this. However, it did not explain what Ahsoka Tano was doing at his door in the middle of the night. Ahsoka had deep bags under her eyes, which wasn’t too much of a surprise considering the current living arrangements of her lineage. While little Luke and Leia were relatively well-behaved newborns, they were still only a few weeks old. If their human caretakers didn’t wake up at every single little whimper, then the togruta with the superior hearing certainly would.

“Do you want to come inside?” Mace asked, not letting his confusion show. He was used to people coming to his door at the oddest hours.

“If—if I can?” Ahsoka replied as if only now becoming aware of her actions. In this, she reminded Mace of her Grandmaster and the many nights Mace had found Obi-Wan coming to his doorstep during the first months of Anakin’s stay at the Temple.

“My door is always open, Padawan,” Mace said – and watched her wince.

Ah.

So there was the problem.

“Caleb is currently sleeping in my bed as Depa is away,” Mace explained. “So please keep your voice down. I don’t want to wake him unnecessarily.”

The boy had already had a hellish enough month behind him, he needed all the rest he could get. Even though the war was officially over, enough planets refused to surrender, drawing out the battles until they had nothing but children left to sacrifice. It weighed on Mace’s shoulders, making him wonder whether he wasn’t too old to carry such burdens still.

Ahsoka nodded and followed Mace inside. He couldn’t recall whether Ahsoka had been in his room before, but from the way she eagerly looked around his quarters, taking in the sight of old instruments, books, and holos, he guessed she hadn’t. Well, at one point in their life, every Jedi had set a foot inside Mace’s quarters, so this was bound to happen sooner or later.

“Do you want a cup of tea?”

Ahsoka tore herself away from the sight and looked at him with surprise. “I—yes? That would be nice.”

“Then I will make a cup. Do you have any preferences? I believe I even have Obi-Wan’s favorite blend here.”

Mace had no idea whether he had bought it or if Obi-Wan had just left it here from himself when he came over. Knowing the other man, it was likely that the latter was the case. For a man claiming to be so very polite, Obi-Wan could be a right brat.

Mace’s kitchen was small, with only a few cabinets and one shelf, two cooking tiles, and an oven. He wasn’t much of a cook himself and preferred to eat in the cafeteria with everyone, frequently taste-tasting what the Initiates had prepared. He selected two uneven cups Depa had made for him when she’d been young from the shelf. Why she had decided to pick up pottery of all hobbies was beside him, but he supposed that she found the motion soothing. Devan did enjoy parkouring through the lower levels and Echuu was quite content playing the guitar to calm himself.

Perhaps Mace should focus less on why all three of his Padawans had decided they wouldn’t follow him into theatre so they could continue to make fun of him. Setting the water to boil, Mace searched through his cabinets until he found Obi-Wan’s favorite blend. The fruity tea was far from the blend he preferred, but Mace prided himself on being a good host. While he waited for the tea to finish steeping, Mace enjoyed the quiet of the night. For all that there were few sounds as dear to him as that of people walking, or in the case of some younglings and few selected Knights, running, down their large hallways, Mace could appreciate the quiet when the world came to rest.

With two finished cups in hand, he returned to the living room, where he found Ahsoka curled up on the sofa, no longer studying his quarters for any hidden secrets.

“Thank you,” she said when she accepted the cup from him. She held it in her hands as if to warm them, letting the steam hit her face. She breathed in once, twice, finding her rhythm again. Mace waited until she’d calmed enough to speak up.

“What brings you to my door, Padawan Tano?”

Ahsoka flinched and appeared to make herself even smaller as if attempting to vanish. When it became apparent that it didn’t work, that silence hadn’t been what she had sought him out for, she let out a sigh. “You keep calling that.”

“Calling you what?” Mace asked, his brow raised, playing oblivious.

“… Padawan.”

“Are you not? I was under the impression that you had returned to the Temple.”

“I did, but I still left,” Ahsoka replied. “I left and I was convinced that I had to leave and that it was good that I did. I still think I had to leave the Temple behind.”

“Then why are you torn?”

Ahsoka’s hold on her cup tightened and so, perhaps in wise anticipation, she set it on the table and buried her hands in her robes instead, hiding their twitching from view. Mace could trace all her mannerisms to her teachers and couldn’t imagine what it must be like to purposefully rip all those pieces from yourself when they had become so ingrained in your very being. Even Dooku, who’d fallen so far from their beliefs, had been unable to fully rid himself of Yoda’s lessons. Maybe it was for the best. Hope had become a scarce commodity during the war, yet Mace considered the possibility that in a decade, they wouldn’t be imprisoning a Sith anymore.

“But am I still a Padawan? A member of this Order?” Ahsoka asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she shook like the leaves on the trees in the courtyard.

“Has your Master told you anything different?”

Ahsoka paused. “…. No.”

Seeing that realization was settling within her, Mace nodded. “Then you should not doubt him. You are a Jedi, Ahsoka Tano, and you will remain one as long as you live by our tenets.”

That teased a startled laugh from her. “Compassion for all except people who cheat at push-n-pull?”

As if transported back ten years, hearing Anakin say the same, Mace snorted. “The similarities between you and your Master astonish me every time. Yes, Padawan Tano, compassion for all.”

This seemed to calm the youth as she reached for her cup again and emptied it slowly. “It’s good.”

Mace smiled into his own cup. “I’d be insulted if it wasn’t. Obi-Wan forced me to memorize all the steps for making it.”

The then young Knight had been frazzled, and Mace honestly couldn’t tell what it had been about and had forced Mace to learn how to make this tea until he’d more or less collapsed on Mace’s sofa, completely knocked out until morning when Anakin had picked him up.

“He does do that,” Ahsoka agreed. “I think this is the only thing anyone can make reliably now.”

“Sleep-deprived much?” Mace inquired.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I love Luke and Leia dearly, but they are demanding and need a lot of attention.”

That was honestly kinder than Mace would have described newborns at her age.

“There is a reason why we usually don’t have children this young in the Temple,” Mace said. “They are very handful. Do you get enlisted to help very often?”

Ahsoka shook her head. “No, Obi-Wan, Skyguy, and Padmé got it covered, and I’m mostly just helping out somewhere else.”

She trailed off a little. This, perhaps, was another issue, but one that could be equally easily dealt with.

“Thank you then for going where you are needed,” Mace told her.

Ahsoka blinked. “Huh?”

“You will grow into a specific role someday, Ahsoka, and that needs time. Do not feel as if you need to earn back your place in the Temple. You don’t need to earn yourself a home you have always had. For now, trust me when I say that everyone you’ve helped is glad that you were there. It is an admirable quality to have a sense of where you are needed. Do not see it as being the odd one out.”

This was the hardest lesson to teach and learn, the fact that there was a path out there for you, but that it took time to see where it would lead. Too many of their Padawans now felt utterly lost without the structure the war had provided them with.

“Oh. I guess if you say so.”

“Yes, I do say so,” Mace agreed. Then, eyeing Ahsoka’s empty cup, he added on, “do you want another?”

“No.” Ahsoka yawned. “I think I might best head back.”

“You can also sleep here if you want, and don’t mind Caleb hogging the blanket. I won’t go to bed tonight anyway.”

Ahsoka squinted at him as if attempting to discern whether he was lying. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really—”

“Ahsoka, go to bed.”

Clearly feeling better already, she saluted and, after Mace showed her his bedroom, made herself comfortable in it. She took off her shoes and tossed her robe over a chair before climbing into the bed. Ahsoka had barely laid down when Caleb already turned around to curl around her, clinging like a little monkey. After a moment’s apprehension, she relaxed and was fast asleep. Stealing one last glance at the two Padawan, Mace returned to his living room, looking through the incoming reports.

Hectic as the aftermath of the war was, as much effort as caring for their children was, Mace wouldn’t trade it for a single thing in the world.

#star wars #mace windu #ahsoka tano #jedi #light fix it verse #fanfic

[shatouto]

eyes in liminality

(also on ao3)

The galaxy sees Obi-Wan Kenobi as the exemplary Jedi of the Order: calm, collected, and carefully detached. The galaxy sees Obi-Wan Kenobi as the aloof, accomplished being that he is reported to be: defeated a Sith when he was but an apprentice; training the Force’s son right after his knighting.

But if the galaxy truly has eyes, it would see that the child Kenobi is in his heart is not quite that much older than the child he carries under his wing. If the galaxy has eyes at all, they would see that deep inside Kenobi’s closet, hidden behind boxes and neatly folded clothing, there lies a redwood box that has not been opened in years. They would see inside the redwood box, where a coppery-auburn braid coils around a late Master’s lightsaber, silently reaching for its green Kyber core.

The galaxy does not have eyes.

——

The Council exits the Chamber of Ceremony in murmured chatter, leaving only the pair of former Master and newly-graduated Knight. Obi-Wan looks to his student, now a grown Jedi, with such pride in his chest that he cannot help but smile. Anakin is flushed and grinning ear-to-ear at him, bathed in the streams of early afternoon light that flow freely through tall windows. For a fraction of a second Obi-Wan wonders what it feels like to be Anakin right now. What it feels like to be knighted by your Master’s own warm hands and have them squeeze your shoulders as you think of a good gift-wrapping sentence to give them the severed braid in your hand.

Anakin fiddles with the golden cord of hair, twists it between his fingers. He has never been able to hide his fidgeting, and it isn’t as though Obi-Wan minds. It’s not quite proper, yes, but it is harmless. And quite endearing, although Obi-Wan would keep this remark to himself.

“Shall we walk back?”

Anakin nods, and shuffles closer to him as they traverse the hallways. Silence is barely noticeable between them, silken as a spring breeze and warm as a morning kiss. Anakin’s hands are firmly tucked into his sleeves, where Obi-Wan imagines he’s still wrapping and unwrapping the Padawan braid around his fingers. Obi-Wan stops himself before he could start wondering to whom Anakin is going to gift it. A Padawan’s severed braid is the most cherished, tangible remnant of their apprenticeship; the physical embodiment of their will and wits; the culmination of years of blood, sweat and tears. It is no small matter to decide who to entrust it, and it is often the case that a newly-knighted Jedi would place it in the hands of their former mentor as a token of gratitude and a treasured memento.

It is a privilege to be able to do so.

But, evidently, it is by no mean a mandatory practice. Some former Padawans do give their braids to their closest friends. Legends even have it that one old Master was known for having encased her braid in amber, like a pendant, and put it around the neck of her beloved varactyl. While uncommon, it isn’t unheard of that a former apprentice gave their Padawan braid to someone other than their Master. It is ultimately the decision of the individual fresh Knight, and they have no obligations to disclose the destinator of their braid nor the reason therefore. It should be keenly noted that not receiving their former apprentice’s Padawan braid does not reflect a failing on the part of the Master.

So Obi-Wan tells himself, when Anakin never comes to him with the golden braid.

It has been months after the ceremony, and he still wakes up some mornings wondering why.

He shouldn’t. It is utterly unbecoming of a Jedi to be so mired in such small matters. He knows better than anyone else that Anakin, his apprentice, his student, his friend, and often his mission partner, does not owe it to him. The fact that he is not Anakin’s first choice only means that somebody else has been cherishing Anakin better than he did. That is not, strictly, a Master’s failure. A personal failure, perhaps, but such a line of thoughts is unbearable and so opposed to the Code that Obi-Wan has little choice but to forfeit it. Moving on and living in the present is the only way, especially for a Jedi Master of his station.

And if he cannot, if the buried wounds fester and ache on lonesome starless night, then he has only himself to blame.

——

“Knight Skywalker… Skywalker!”

“I’m sorry,” Anakin dodges a hapless stranger who’s caught in the chase. He hops towards the stairs. “I need to go. I swear I’ll be back by this evening!”

“You have never kept that kind of promise in your life!” The healer who’s chasing after him is breathless and exasperated and, well, angry, although anger is unbefitting of a Jedi. “Knight Skywalker, come back here!”

“Sorry!” Anakin yells, without much thought, climbing over the spiral stairway’s railings. He drops himself down. Air reels through his hair as he free-falls, and he lands on his feet, only mildly aching where his shoulder has just been bandaged.

The ground is a little dented, but that’s not his problem.

He dashes across the corridor and catches a lift tube before the healer can send someone after him. Usually, this is where they give up - no use wasting so much time and effort on a runaway patient when there are plenty others in need - and Anakin is fairly sure this time it is the case too. He just has to be safe. He needs proper time, this time.

Because Obi-Wan has just gotten back to the Temple, and Anakin is finally ready.

He can just follow his Master’s light - he can do that even when they’re separated on an unknown mountainous planet covered in perennial fog, much less here in the Temple where the Force sings in their veins. He runs so fast he’s nearly gliding through the air, feet barely touching the ground. Obi-Wan’s signature beckons him in the most innocuous way, their bond glowing despite the conclusion of his apprenticeship about half a year ago. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t done what all former Padawans are meant to do; although Anakin doubts the dissolution of a decade-long mental link is as simple as giving away one piece of yourself. He’s going to do that now, in any case.

(He hopes that doesn’t do anything to their bond, really.)

The door to their quarters slide open and Anakin hurries in, already smiling to feel Obi-Wan so near. Obi-Wan’s pack is still on the couch, and his shuffling in the kitchenette can be heard all the way from the main door. Anakin makes a beeline for it.

“Master,” he greets, so sure that Obi-Wan has also picked up on his presence that it surprises him a little to see Obi-Wan turn around slightly wide-eyed as if unaware. Still, his Master nods with the subtlest smile under his whisker and a tilt of the head. And then immediately he furrows his brows.

“Anakin, those are infirmary robes. Did you just—”

Anakin cuts in; there’s no time. “I have something I need to give to you.”

Obi-Wan stares at him for a blank moment. “Is it something so important that you felt the need to cut your own treatment short for?” He gestures, eyes already intent on the bandages peeking out from under the too-loose vee of Anakin’s tunic.

“It is.” Anakin nods firmly.

He bids Obi-Wan to stay and wait and disappears into his bedroom. He’s kept it in a little leather pouch with suede drawstrings; dark and nothing elaborate, but sturdy and waterproof. He would have embroidered it if he had the time; although, if he thinks about it, it might be better this way, purely practical in a way that Obi-Wan would have appreciated more. Anakin’s not sure, really. He is working himself into nervousness and he needs to get out of this room before his courage fails him in the most crucial moment.

His Master is still standing in wait in the middle of the living room by the time he returns. Briefly Anakin wonders why Obi-Wan doesn’t take a seat; but there isn’t any time to question that now.

(Maybe if Anakin is any less distracted by the fluttering in his stomach, he would have noticed Obi-Wan’s hands bunched beneath his great sleeves, the way he always does to hide his own anxiety.)

He positions himself before Obi-Wan, almost stilted with his sudden compulsion for solemnity. He blinks, and smiles, and he thinks he has whispered Here it is, or he might’ve only thought the words and hoped Obi-Wan heard them too. Either way, he opens the pouch, gingerly pulls out the item. He takes Obi-Wan’s hand, and presses into it a bracelet.

A bracelet made of Anakin’s braid.

Gentle light sheens on the golden cord. Strung onto it are a few Japor beads that has taken Anakin quite some time to find. They rest snugly against the old bands - red, for piloting, and blue, for mechanics - that Obi-Wan has tied on with his own hands years ago. The ends of the braid are secured with lightsaber-steel caps and connected to a clasp. It lies serenely against the valley of Obi-Wan’s palm, almost glowing in the early afternoon sun.

Silence. Anakin peeks at his former Master’s face from under his lashes, chewing the inside of his mouth. He’ll be the first to admit that he has gone the unusual route. He can already imagine some other Master calling it frivolous, even. Not that he cares. He doesn’t care about anybody’s possible comment or side-eye at this moment, or ever. Just Obi-Wan’s.

And Obi-Wan’s eyes are wide and his lips are parted, but that is about it. Although surprise has never shown itself so blatantly on Obi-Wan’s face, it’s still such an understated display. Anakin’s bravery is slowly seeping down the drain, his heart thumping madly all the way to his trembling fingertips.

“I, uh, I made it,” he says, just to say something. Obi-Wan’s lashes flutter as if he is only blinking himself awake then. Anakin swallows thickly, and continues, “I figured that, um, this way, you could wear it if you wanted to. You don’t have to wear it, of course! You can keep the pouch. I mean you can keep it with the pouch. Keep it in the pouch.” Anakin winces, tripping over his words. “I’m not going to take it back, it’s still my Padawan braid which you—”

“Thank you, Anakin.” Obi-Wan smiles, and Anakin freezes. His Master’s warm hand with all of its familiar calluses closes around his own, squeezing around his knuckles in a clear display of affectedness. There’s that flush across Obi-Wan’s face too, tinting his ears pink.

“You’re welcome. Sorry it took so long.” Anakin grins, even as the corners of his lips wobble and his eyes sting because Obi-Wan is unclasping the bracelet right then and there. He intercepts. “Here, Master, let me put it on for you.”

So he takes Obi-Wan’s hand and he rolls down the undertunic sleeve a little bit; he secures the braid around his Master’s wrist and he pulls the sleeve above it, safely concealing that part of himself on Obi-Wan’s person. He pats the spot and can’t bring himself to pull away.

Obi-Wan doesn’t, either. He leaves out a moment before speaking up so tenderly: “Anakin?”

“I just…” Anakin struggles. He lingers in the liminality between apprenticeship and knighthood even as they stand as equals, tethering himself onto the former Master with whom his bond still shines. “I need a moment.”

Obi-Wan holds his, and now both of their hands are linked together, fingers upon fingers, closing around each other like layers of mutual protection. Their hands are about the same size now, aren’t they? There was a time when his whole spread hand would fit into Obi-Wan’s palm like a tiny starfish, no more. Anakin brushes a thumb over this one scar on the back of Obi-Wan’s hand. He can’t remember who saved whose life that time. It’s not like there is a difference, anyway.

“...So do I,” says Obi-Wan, so quietly. Something wavers in his voice and glistens in his eyes and Anakin can see it. Anakin sees it all.

——

Perhaps, the galaxy does have eyes.

#obikin #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #mostly gen #platonic in action but Platonic in my heart #capital P platonic for real #shatou writes #shatou has been writing a lot lately #what is going on

[animemangasoul]

You Are Wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summery: Qui-Gon lives and Mace gets a new Padawan.

[In which Qui-Gon repudiates Obi-Wan and Mace isn't about to let the kid leave the order without a fight.]

Chapter: 4/10

Obi-Wan came to, to a throbbing headache, a flaring pain in his abdominal region and two warm bodies sprawled on top of him on either side. Full awareness had yet to sink in, faint traces of nightmares still clinging to his consciousness; threatening to drag him back under.

 But the painful memories they spun through his mind were not easy to shake off. The warmth of Master Qui-Gon's presence dimming under his desperate hands, his own injuries screaming in agony, the tears, the horror, the force within him, building and building until it burst. Until there was nothing.

 Until he was nothing.

 He remembered it all so vividly. Even weeks later, those excruciating moments clawed at his chest, screamed in his soul, choked his heart.

 It had hurt, Obi-Wan remembered that much. Being stabbed by the Sith had nothing on the pain that came after forcefully healing his Master with everything he had. He'd never been a proficient healer, had never learned nor mastered the art, but fear and desperation had forced his hand and as his Master had begged him to let him go, begged him to not endanger his life, begged him to train the Chosen One, Obi-Wan remembered shaking his head; tears running down his face, remembered how he'd let his emotions rule him.

 How he'd clung to a man ready to join the force. How he'd exhausted himself, holding onto a soul ready to depart as he poured his very essence into his Master, until there was nothing left in him anymore.

 And he remembered, Qui-Gon tears splattering against his hands. Remembered how his Master had tried to heal him in turn, but his body had rejected it. As if the force required penance for his crimes. As if by giving himself fully to bring Qui-Gon back, the force shied away from him.

 It was the last thing he recalled. That face, his Master's face marred in so much pain, so much horror, so much desperation and so much grief.

 It had been the last thing he'd seen. His Master alive and breathing. Obi-Wan had thought then that his time had come and if, he'd wondered as his gaze connected with the pleading eyes of Master Qui-Gon Jinn, if he was to go saving his Master, then there was no greater honour. And so he'd let the darkness take him, consciousness fading to declaration of love and sobbing demands to please wake up.

 'If I die saving you, Master,' he'd thought, wrapping his thinning force presence around the grieving man in comfort. 'Then I'm glad. I'm so very glad.'

 And then, there was nothing.

 A blissful moment of silence. A fleeting moment of peace. Until he was forcefully dragged back,

 Until he opened his eyes and found himself alive.

 Oh and if the reality he woke up too wasn't a nightmare he rather not have laid his eyes on. Even now, his eyes stung thinking about it. The betrayal, the abandonment, the…….

 His Master had repudiated him, hadn't he?

 Clenching his teeth, Obi-Wan blinked frantically to stave away the oncoming wave of tears.

 'No,' he hissed at himself. 'I won't cry anymore. Never again. Not over this.'

 What was done was done. No amount of self-pity and confusion was going to clarify it. And Obi-Wan couldn't linger in the past, not anymore.

 'Here and now, Padawan,' he thought bitterly. 'keep your concentration here and now where it belongs.'

 He gritted his teeth and sighed, feeling exhausted even as it appeared that he had actually gotten a goodnight sleep, going by the bright morning light breaking through the window.

 A soft mumble against his ear snapped him out of his grief and he blinked. Turning ever so slightly as not to disturb the man sleeping next to him he came nose to nose with the peaceful face of Quinlan. His best friend making a little noise at the back of his throat, brows furrowing before he sighed and leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest on Obi-Wan's shoulder.

 Exhaling gently, Obi-Wan ignored the painful twinge of his heart at the action and carefully pressed his cheek atop the crow of the other man's head. Closing his eyes in silent gratitude.

 Leaving the Halls had been such relief, but he'd also dreaded it. Maybe that's why he'd been so cooperative with Master Che; the healer endlessly suspicious of his respectful attitude and his lack of attempts to flee the scene. It was unusual for him after all, to be so obedient. But he hadn't done it out of any sense of respect, not really. Because despite his reckless need to be independent and his bone deep fear of medics, the outside world was so much scarier than the white walls of the Halls.

 To cry out for independence and for it to thrust into his lap in the cruelest way imaginable. It rattled him. And in a way, he found hiding within the Halls of Healing, away from the prying eyes of the public, gave him the only level of dignity he could be afforded.

 Sighing, he allowed himself to drown in the two force presence surrounding him. Little Aayla's force signature still a little unfamiliar to him, but all the more welcoming. The newly minted Padawan had practically shadowed Quinlan for as long as she'd been at the Temple, and while Obi-Wan hadn't had the pleasure to talk to her often, her gentle kindness had been a balm against his burned soul these past couple of weeks.

 Smiling softly at the Twi'lek girl pressed against his side, Obi-Wan fumbled for Quin's hand, squeezing it lightly even as the sudden movement; little as it were, sent a flash of pain across his chest.

 Still, the presence of this particular Master, Padawan duo made the turmoil of his current situation just the tiniest bit more bearable.

 He hadn't wanted anyone to come along when he'd left the Halls, all the attention and broadcasted worry by his friends and new Master, making him uncomfortable. So he'd left them with a grateful goodbye. Master Windu pushing him to their newly shared quarters.

 It had been embarrassing, being fussed over. Master Windu clearly had other more important businesses and order meetings to take care of, but somehow the man had made himself available for his discharge and kept a steady follow of conversation between them as he guided the hoverchair to Obi-Wan's new home. "I can walk, Master," he remembered saying; face ducked into his chest to avoid the curious glances sent his way. "You can go if you want."  And he remembered Master Windu placing a gentle hand atop of his head and patting him gently in response.

 "I know you can kid," he'd huffed. "But there is no need to strain yourself when you don't have to." And that had been the end of it. Somehow the warmth emitting from Master Windu's force presence curling around him in soft comfortable that Obi-Wan didn't quite know why it made him want to cry. So he only flushed deep red and nodded. Content in sharing this little moment with his new Master.

 Rarely had Master Qui-Gon been so open with his worry and concern for him, his action of course spoke louder than words and Obi-Wan vividly recalled his former Master's arms around him as he sobbed into his hair, begging him to hold on. But his mind, his thoughts had always alluded him, so to experience Master Windu's care for him, so openly, so unrestrained, it had been….. Comforting.

 In the end Quin and Aayla had greeted them as soon as they'd arrived at Master Windu's quarters. Grinning at him with little Aayla rushing forward to give him a tentative hug. His weeks in the hospital had brought them closer with Anakin and her forming an adorable friendship and secretly Obi-Wan was thankful. For as sweet as Anakin could be, sometimes being in his presence, remembering how Qui-Gon chose---- sometimes it was difficult to be kind, so Aayla whether she realized it or not had been a force blessing in disguise.

 The Master, Padawan duo had refused to leave of course and with Master Windu backing them--- "It's your first night out of the Halls Obi-Wan, it's best to be careful with your recovery," there was nothing Obi-Wan could do but let them stay.

 Master Windu left shortly after that. Helping him to his bedroom first; quickly snatching up what suspiciously looked like Soresu training leaflets from the covers with fond exasperation and nearly tucked him in if he hadn't caught himself last minute, much to Quinlan's amusement and his own mortification.

 While Quinlan's presence was annoying as ever after that, practically lounging in his bed, taking up more space than required and forcing him to watch stupid holodramas. His and Aayla's company pushed away the dark thoughts clouding his mind and even as he grumbled and frowned at his best friend, Obi-Wan found himself relaxing. And just like that, their laughter and jokes, Aayla's timid little smiles and mischievous tales of her and Anakin's exploits, Quinlan's snarky comments and embarrassing retelling of Obi-Wan's childhood stories, lulled him to sleep. Holodrama forgotten and for the moment, Master Qui-Gon too.

 Now here he was, eyes tracing the ceiling of this unfamiliar bedroom, lingering ever so often on the scorch marks; likely done with a lightsaber and wondering how Master Billaba had gotten away with practicing her lightsaber forms inside her kriffing bedroom. It's the funny mental image of Master Billaba slashing across the walls, while Master Windu frantically begging her to stop, that accompanies him back to sleep. Aayla's fingers curled around the hem of his tunic and Quin's breath fanning warmth across his skin, grounding him as he slipped away into a dreamless rest.

 -----------------------

  When he woke up next, it was to a dull headache, pain bursting through his guts and a distinct lack of bodies clustering around him in his bed.

 He sighed, arm coming up to cover his eyes, teeth digging into his lower lip to keep himself from yelping at the sheer agony that flared up at his action.

 Obi-Wan took his time dragging himself out of bed. Fingers grabbing for the note by his bedside, eyes skimming over Quinlan's chicken scratches and snorting at the hurried explanation for their departing-- "Ay needs to get to class!! Can't believe I slept in!!!! You Obs make a hell of a pillow!" and of course the threats for him to take his medication or else--- "Take those pills man or I'll sic Bant on you. Don't think I won't!!!" With a crude drawing of Bant with a pitchfork.

 Obi-Wan wondered how Quin had found the time to draw the picture if he was in as much of a hurry as he said, shaking his head fondly. Clearly he'd taken his time with it too, going by the erased lines and all the redraws. Snorting in amusement, he threw back two pills, ignoring the warning of eating something first; the pain was borderline on unbearable at this point, and slowly eased himself up and in the direction of the bathroom.

 Every apartment in the Temple were simplistic and almost identical in their designs; the only difference being the size and number of rooms depending on one's status as a Jedi, so Obi-Wan managed to get through his morning routine with relative little difficulty. The shower taking the longest time as he struggled to stand through the hot water cascading down his back. He should have just settled for a sonic, he thought bitterly, but the pelting droplets of water somehow elevated the coldness in his chest and loosened his muscle; unknown tension draining from his figure and even as he pressed his face against the cool glass, legs barely able to hold him up, so he couldn't find it in himself to regret his momentary reprieve. Constantly as it might have been.

 Still, even with the painkillers dulling the pain coursing through his veins, Obi-Wan stumbled out, breath coming in gasps and even drying himself off taking more energy than his body was capable of providing. His bandages had come off around a week ago, the bacta tank having healed the external wound to a degree but Master Che fearing infection, had kept them on for a time. The healers were extra careful in how they treated him, and from the way his stomach and his insides, from the way it all burned, Obi-Wan couldn't fault them for treading lightly.

 Collapsing on the bed; pants all he'd managed to drag on, Obi-Wan scrunched his eyes shut, the trickle of tears sliding down his cheeks joining the splotches of dampness on his covers by his poorly dried hair.

 'Just a minute--' he thought, swallowing down the misery, muscles screaming from unused exhaustion.

 It appeared to be that no amount of physical therapy could make up from weeks suspended in a bacta tank. 'Just a minute.'

 At last he found himself making his way out of his new bedroom and wandering into the living room; a simple tunic the only outer layer he had any strength in pulling on before his body once again bucked against him in protest.

 Fingers clutching at the doorframe, he let his eyes scan the vast space.

 Looked like Masters on the council had much larger living space afforded to them then just being a Master. 'Or maybe it's just the Master of the Order,' Obi-Wan thought, eyes landing on the floor to roof length windows stretching from wall to wall and the meditation space separate from the living room itself and finally the modest sized kitchen down the hall that he couldn't quite see from his position.

 He'd heard rumours that outside of important council meetings, council sessions between select members were often held in Master Windu's quarters for convenience, and from the several chairs surrounding a round table by the far side and the datapads stacked like mountains in the corner, Obi-Wan was inclined to believe the rumours to be true.

 Finally, his gaze landed on the stacked boxes by the wall separating his new bedroom from Master Windu's own and he found that he couldn't quite swallow past the sudden lump in his throat.

 Those were his things.

 He knew Garen had brought them over sometime during the holodrama marathon, even offering to unpack most of it with Quin and Aayla's help; despite Garen having a mission briefing to report to.

 Obi-Wan had flat out turned it down. Firmly telling his friends that no, he didn't need help with every little thing in his life. "I'll unbox them at my own time," he'd said, glaring mulishly at them. "Just because I'm a recently recovered victim of a Sith does not mean I can't take care of myself."

 They'd eventually relented when he'd threatened to kick them all out if they didn't stop; Quin hurriedly shooing Garen out, claiming his favorite episode was coming up and he couldn't afford to be kicked out now, while Aayla just laughed at them all.

 "If you wanna waste time unpacking all this junk, be my guest," was Garen's departing words, saluting them as he went. "Don't come crying to me when you get tired." And his friends had left it at that.

 If only they'd known the real reason why he hadn't wanted their help.

 Sighing, he carefully shuffled over to the boxes, fingers running over the sealed tape, eyes stinging for just a moment at the thought of Master Qui-Gon packing away his things just so he could give his room to his new favorite Padawan. 'No,' Obi-Wan thought, even as his fingers clenched and jealousy spiked in his heart. 'This is not Anakin's fault.'

 Of course it wasn't. He was just an innocent kid, a kid who'd been through hell and now was caught up in the middle of this mess, and yet…..

 What it most have been like for him. To be chosen by Qui-Gon. To be wanted, when Obi-Wan begged and pleaded and cried for even a sliver of that attention.

 Gritting his teeth, he let his arm drop. Having Gar and Quin help him with unpacking his stuff would have been much easier all things considered; especially since Master Windu would be back around noon to check up on him as he'd promised, but…..

 Just the thought of Master Windu's kind smile and understanding eyes froze him in place. Refused to let him even entertain taking the first step in opening those boxes, because…. What if….

 What if Master Windu changed his mind?

 It's not like their partnership had been made official yet. Master Windu hadn't stood in front of the council and declared him his Padawan. Not yet….. Maybe not ever.

 What if, right this very moment, he was thinking his decision over. Realizing a grown adult Padawan was not what he was looking for. What if he was talking with Master Qui-Gon and Master Qui-Gon was telling him about all of Obi-Wan's shortcomings. What if he got back later only to inform Obi-Wan; with that sad tilt of his mouth and calming force presence that this, their partnership wouldn't work out. Because Obi-Wan was too much trouble and no one in their right mind could ever teach him and turn him into a competent Knight.

 What if Master Windu was regretting giving him hope, telling him he wouldn't be sent away and now he was stuck with him and there wouldn't be an easy way to let him down and maybe Qui-Gon had been right all along maybe Obi-Wan had never been cut out to be a Knight because if he was meant to be a Knight, why did Master Qui-Gon throw him away!

 And oh….

 Oh

 He couldn't breathe.

 Slamming a hand against his chest, he tried. His throat tightening up, a wheeze escaping past his lips.

 He couldn't breathe.

 Shutting his eyes, he counted. The silence, the quiet. He drew it to him. Focused on every inhale and exhale. One, two, three. In and out.

 'Breathe,' he told himself, the ghost of Master Qui-Gon's hand pressed between his shoulder blades. 'Breathe Obi-Wan. It's going to be okay.'

 It took him several minutes; of what felt like hours, to get his raging emotions under control, but when he did, a loud gasp pushed through his mouth, finally, and he was breathing again. Shuddering and forcefully fighting against the need to curl into a ball and weep, but breathing nonetheless.

 Obi-Wan stumbled back, using the boxes for support as he blinked away the dark spots that invaded his sight.

 Breathe.

 It's going to be okay.

 Somehow he found within himself the strength to move over to the couch and sit down. Kneels buckling underneath him as he sank into the cushions. Wiping a tired hang across his brows, Obi-Wan gave himself a window just to gather his sense and it was not a moment too soon for a couple of minutes later a knock alerted him to an unknown guest outside Master Windu's quarters.

 "Come in," he called before suddenly realizing that this wasn't actually his old quarters and unlike Master Qui-Gon's not many refused to  use access code. But just as he was about to force himself back on his feet, the door slide open and Master Billaba walked in. Hands carefully balancing a tray of food she most have gotten from the refectory as well as a slim wooden box.

 "Hello, Obi-Wan," she smiled and Obi-Wan smiled back; albeit with much more restraint and politeness.

 "Hello, Master Billaba."

 "Depa," she corrected, eyebrows raised.

 "Master Depa," he said, bowing as best as he could without agitating his recent injury.

 Stepping into the apartment, Master Billaba placed the breakfast tray on the dinner table, before she made her way over to him; wooden box in hand.

 "I don't have much time," she said, sitting down across from him. "I'm expected to be present for the council meeting starting thirty minutes from now so I most be quick." Folding her legs, Master Billaba gave him a calculating look.  "I have something for you."

 Obi-Wan stiffened. He didn't know much about Master Billaba except for her sound reputation and Master Windu's fondness of her.

 What could she possible have for him?

 'Maybe Master Windu sent her to soften the blow,' a traitorous voice whispered into his ear. 'Maybe he couldn't face you when he rejected you too.'

 Swallowing thickly, he schooled his features into serene blankness. "What do you have for me Master Bill---" she gave him a look. "Master Depa," he corrected with an apologetic smile.

 "Well," she said, and strangely enough to Obi-Wan's quiet surprise, she sounded unsure of herself as she fiddled with the cover of the box. "I talked to Mace and--" tearing her eyes from his, she exhaled loudly; her force presence coiling around her as if soothing away her worries, concern? "We talked about your Padawan-braid, Obi-Wan. How Master Jinn removed your marks of achievements when he released you from his care."

 Obi-Wan flinched, fingers immediately coming up to tug at his braid, long as it were, bare as it was. "Yes," he managed to stutter out. "That is correct."

 His pain most have reached her, for Master Billaba sent him a sympathetic smile before carefully removing the lid of the box and looking down at the content. "We both know, that for Padawans, the beads and bands they collect throughout their apprenticeship means more---" she swallowed, blinking slowly. "Means more to them, than any outsider of the Order can ever hope to understand. It signifies our commitment, our devotion, our dedication and---" a pause. "our relationship with our Masters." The last part was but a whisper, as if Master Billaba by speaking softly could somehow spare him the hurtful truth of his repudiation.

 It didn't and it was all Obi-Wan could do not to recoil from her words. "Yes," he whispered back. "Yes."

 This time, Master Billaba's smile was brittle, pained but when she met his eyes it held the calm resolve of the woman who had ha seat in the council, one of the youngest Masters to ever be appointed. He saw Master Depa Billaba of the Jedi Order and her tranquil presence helped him cobble together a modicum of composure to not fall apart right then and there. "I know Master Jinn took your accomplishment with him when he repudiated you," she said. "And what I have here might not make up for that loss, might not hold the same history or importance to you, but I hope it can give you…., a sense of closure and a sense of closeness to those that do care for you."

 Obi-Wan blinked, confused. "What---" he started, but before he could even formulate an appropriate question, Master Billaba stood up and gently placed the open box in his lap and when Obi-Wan looked down he saw beads of several different colours.

 Blue and red and pearl white and, was that Bant's pale green band that Tahl had given her for all those years ago?---- "I don't understand," he mumbled, a single finger running over a diamond shaped bead that distinctly looked like the one he'd seen in Garen's braid just a cycle ago. "I don't….. What is this?"

 Resting a hand on his shoulder, Master Billaba projected warmth, comfort and calmness through to him and Obi-Wan found the tension within his body slowly easing away. "Your apprenticeship is nearly over and I felt that it was wrong for you to have to finish it without all the accomplishment you have achieved with your own merits  on display like every Padawan that came before you and will come after you. Therefore I had an idea--" she squeezed his shoulder slightly. "And so I ran it by Mace and your fellow Jedi and it looks like many of your crèchemates and friends value you dearly Obi-Wan Kenobi. Those beads are either from their former Padawan braids that they have requested from their Masters or from their current braids in the case of Padawan Eerin and Padawan Reeft. Each contributed a single bead or band, to you." Leaning over so she could meet his eyes, Master Billaba smiled, soft, kind, gentle. "You are very loved Obi-Wan, I wished for you to know that."

 "Oh."

 Oh

 For what else could he say.

 Here were all the….. The evidence of how much…..

 He hadn't been the brightest Youngling nor the strongest Initiate and his years as Master Qui-Gon's Padawan were fraught with controversies and infractions, and for the longest time he'd known, in his heart of hearts that he was destined for infinite sadness. That in his path lay nothing but misery and suffering.

 So to see, despite of his current predicament, despite his rejection, despite his bone deep loneliness, this level of kindness. It…..

 Every bead and band gave of  little pulses of familiar force signatures. Without needing to concentrate Obi-Wan could feel them all. He could feel Quin and Bant and Reeft and Gar. And he could feel Master Billaba, Master Windu and Master Plo Koon. His crèchemates and Masters Friends he'd met throughout his years as a Padawan and…..

 Obi-Wan didn't quite know when he started crying, but when the first droplet of water splashed atop of the silk green band, he raised a finger to brush against his cheek.

 'Would you look at that,' he thought, faintly aware of Master Billaba coming to sit next to him. 'I'm crying.'

 "Who's this one from?" He finally managed to whisper after an infinite time of him just staring down at a gift he didn't know quite what to do with. "I don't recognize….the force signature?" Obi-Wan had asked in hopes of distracting himself from his embarrassing display of emotions but holding the green little orb in his hand, the question still held true. This bead was the only one whom its force signature was wholly unfamiliar to him.

 "That one belonged to Feemor," Master Billaba said, eyes far away and lips drawn into a sad frown. "He is an old friend."

 Curiously staring down at the green bead, Obi-Wan wiped away his tears and felt for the gentle force pulsing from it. It was calming. "Could you… thank him for me? All of them I mean. I…. I'm not quite sure how to react, it's….. Thank them for me?"

 Master Billaba squeezed his shoulder again. "Of course," she said and with that was on her feet making her way to the door. "Oh and Obi-Wan," she called back.

 "Yeah?" Fingers digging into the wood, he barely managed to tear his eyes away from it.

 "Mace told me that your Padawan announcement will be held in front of the council tomorrow afternoon and if you're not up for it physically it will be held here, in your quarters."

 "What?"

 Master Billaba's force presence wrapped around him in a hug. "You will officially become my Padawan brother tomorrow, Padawan Kenobi. Congratulations."

 "I…. I don't--"

 What do you say in the face of such overwhelming kindness?

 "Thank you," he said, face probably blotched, nose red and eyes stinging. "I will be ready to go to the council….when I'm called."

 Master Billaba nodded, her fondness all but ruffling his hair and Obi-Wan found himself ducking, blushing at the carefree display of affection. "Take care, Obi-Wan," walking out the door, she nodded at the dinner table. "And eat your breakfast."

 Letting out a watery chuckle, Obi-Wan shook his head. "I will."

 And with that, Master Billaba was gone, vanishing out the door as quickly as she'd walked through it. Leaving behind a new legacy and a new bond.

 Obi-Wan sat on the couch for a long time simply looking at the handful of beads swimming at the bottom of the box, silently wondering how Quin had managed to keep it a secret from him this whole time. It most have taken so much effort. Knights like Gar and Quin having to go back to their former Masters to request a single token from them and they'd done it all, for him.

 Closing the box with a gentle click, Obi-Wan stood up. It was time to unpack his things.

 "One step at a time," he told himself, a tiny smile lurking at the corner of his mouth.

 Maybe after all these weeks he could finally move forward. Maybe Master Windu was right, and it would all work out in the end.

 Maybe, just maybe.

The End

Note: In this AU I'm going by the popular headcanon that Feemor had a previous Master who died and Qui-Gon picked up his training and saw him through to knighthood. Half of Feemor's braid is therefore put under his bed with his former Master's belongings and the other half he gave to Qui-Gon and that's how he could also give Obi-Wan his bead. Also it paints an interesting parallel between the qui-gon who helped a padawan who lost his master to knighthood and the jaded qui-gon of today who is the one abandoning a padawan willingly to train the chosen one.

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan fanfic #qui gon jinn #depa billaba #quinlan vos #aayla secura #star wars #star wars fanfic #fanfic #you are wanted obi-wan kenobi #qui gon a+ parenting #Mace is best dad #chapter 4 #yawowh chapter 4

[zelenacat]

Chapter 3- When We Were Young- An Obitine Story

“We weren’t expecting two.” Satine stated plainly.

They had made it up to the Duchess’ quarters, Khaami had held the babies while Fesma supported Satine up the stairs, it had been grueling, but necessary. 

Tyra wailed.

“At this hour,” Khaami observed, “only the guards are awake.”

“Still,” Fesma countered, “what if they heard?”

“What are we going to do?” Satine corrected.

“We could,” Khaami paused, “claim your bastard brother had twins.”

“We could-”

“Satine?”

The Duchess looked up from where she was seated on her bed. Fesma, who was holding Tyra, had her eyes on the girls’ outstretched hand. She was flexing it, and the bed curtains were moving with her motions.

“Could,” Khaami gasped, “could she have inherited-”

“No.” the Duchess said sternly.

“Satine-”

Her chest rose with emotion, “She will remind me of him everyday.”

“Satine,” Fesma began firmly, “perhaps it’s best if Tyra is given to the Jedi Temple.”

Maybe it was the hormones, but the Duchess began to sob uncontrollably, the twins shifted, uncomfortable with their mothers’ tears.

“Satine,” Khaami sat next to her lady, holding Korkie in her arms, “your children will always be a part of you, but they are their own people.”

The Duchess sniffled, “It’s too early to let her go.”

“There’s no way we can keep her,” Fesma sighed, “a Mandalorian Jedi, she’s a juxtaposition, an enigma.”

Satine wiped her eyes.

“It makes sense,” she agreed, “but this is my daughter we’re talking about, my child.”

“She will be well cared for at the temple,” Khaami reasoned, “I’ve never heard tales of the Jedi being unkind.”

“That is true,” agreed Fesma, “and she will never have to hide who she is.”

Satine steeled herself, she was the Duchess of Mandalore, and despite all the odds she had decided to bear her children, Obi-Wan’s children, and she was going to make sure they lived good lives. 

“Whatever is best for her.” the Duchess decided.

Fesma handed Satine baby Tyra, “I’m going to contact our less than savory friends about fake birth certificates and DNA tests.”

“Thank you,” Satine nodded before turning to Khaami, “and I suggest you go get some rest, I can watch the twins.”

Korkie gurgled.

“Are you sure, Satine?” Khaami asked.

“Yes,” the Duchess answered, “and once you’re done, Fesma, I suggest you rest as well.”

Fesma cracked a smile, “It has been a long night.”

After her ladies left, Satine draped a sheet in front of the balcony exit and over the entrance to her parlor room. Then climbed into the bed and held the babies to her chest.

“You’re both so special to me,” she whispered, “do you know that.”

The twins breathed in response, Satine was in awe of how the simple action fascinated her.

“I love you, Korkyrach, and you, Tyra Satine,” the Duchess smiled, “you are both so dear to me.”

Satine didn’t get much sleep that night, as the twins woke up every few hours, but in the morning, when Khaami and Fesma returned to her bedroom, the Duchess had a plan.

“I think we should pay someone to sneak her into the Jedi Temple.”

Khaami blinked.

“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.” Fesma stated.

“I agree.”

“But-”

“Satine,” Fesma frowned, “do you know how heavily guarded the Jedi temple is?”

“Yes, but-”

“Satine,” Khaami’s eyes widened, “whoever sneaked in the temple would likely be killed.”

“Maybe,” Fesma began after a short silence, “you could talk to Tyra’s father-”

“Out of the question,” Satine snapped, “I love him for who he is, not what he was, if I told him about the twins he would become someone new and hate himself!”

Khaami jumped backward. 

Satine lowered her eyes, “I can’t have that.”

“Perhaps, then,” Fesma shifted, “Master, what was his name, Qui-”

“Qui-Gon,” Satine tried to clap, but then she remembered the twins, “he will most definitely help me!”

“Are you sure?” Khaami asked, taking Tyra in her arms.

“It is risky.” Fesma added, taking Korkie.

“I know we can trust him,” the Duchess said firmly, “he was like a second father to me.”

Khaami nodded.

“In other news,” Fesma jumped in, “I contacted the forgers last night, but they’re asking a high price, especially for the DNA test.”

“It’s no wonder,” Satine sighed, “we need it to fool everyone.”

“How will we pay them?” Khaami worried aloud.

“Did they specify what they wanted?” the Duchess questioned.

Fesma shook her head, “Unfortunately, no, although I don’t think we have enough jewels to pay them this time.”

“Is there anything in the palace we can use without drawing attention?” Khaami asked.

“Maybe old relics,” Satine suggested, “candelabras and curtains that historians would die for.”

“That's a start,” Fesma stated, “perhaps some straight cash might help ease the bargain.”

“I’ll take it out of my salary.” the Duchess decided.

Korkie began to cry, then, so did Tyra.

“They must be hungry.” Fesma observed.

Satine held out her arms, “I’ll try feeding them.”

Khaami and Fesma shared a look.

“Are you sure, Satine?” 

“I’ll start,” the Duchess assured, “and Fesma can bring up extra milk for my tea.”

Wordlessly, Fesma handed Satine her son and left. It was a struggle, Satine had no idea how to feed a baby. Khaami was trying to be helpful, but really, Satine was losing her patience.

“We have a problem.” Fesma announced, setting down a tray of milk and tea bags, “many guards heard a baby crying last night.”

Satine took a spoon and quietly began feeding Korkie, her mind whirling.

“We’ll have to speed things up, then.” she said finally.

“I agree.” 

“Fesma, look for nice vases, candelabras, and maybe even old Mandalorian stays,” Satine instructed, “take notes of where and how prominently featured they are.”

“Of course.”

While Khaami burped Korkie and began laying out clothes for her lady, Satine picked up an old comm device and called Master Qui-Gon Jinn, while caring for Tyra.

“Satine?”

“I’m sorry to disturb your meditation, Qui-Gon-”

Over the comm Satine heard the Jedi Master stand, “Is there an emergency?”

“Not an imminent one.”

“Do explain.” Qui-Gon goaded.

“I’ve given birth to twins.”

Besides a sharp intake of breath, there was nothing but silence.

“Tyra Satine, my second born, is force sensitive.”

Master Qui-Gon sighed.

“Can you bring her to the temple?”

“Satine,” the Jedi Master began, “why not just-”

“My consort can’t have anything to do with the Jedi,” Satine interrupted, “and I can’t raise them as my own, Mandalore is too unstable.”

“Your political enemies would also be overjoyed.” Qui-Gon stated.

“Yes,” Satinie’s voice quivered as Tyra burped, “and I need my children to be safe.”

“I ask the council for a few hours of quiet retreat,” the Jedi Master told her, “I’ll be there at two o’clock today.”

Satine sighed, “Thank you, Master Qui-Gon.”

“Should I tell Obi-Wan?”

The Duchess’ breath caught, on her shoulder, Tyra sighed.

“No,” Satine said cooly, “I fell in love with Obi-Wan for what he is, a Jedi, telling him would cause a recalculation of his morals and values.”

Qui-Gon was silent for some time before speaking, “Alright, Satine.”

Satine dressed herself that morning while Khaami watched the babies. Fesma returned soon after Satine had finished brushing her hair.

“The council is expecting you,” she announced, lowering her voice, “and I have the list.”

“Thank you,” Satine smiled, “at Master Qui-Gon is coming today at two.”

Fesma nodded, “Good, I’ll start preparing our bounty.”

The Duchess turned to Khaami, “Watch the twins, will you?”

The lady lit up, “Of course, Satine.”

In the council chamber, the meeting went on as scheduled. The Duchess did her best to pay attention, but at the end of two hours, she was done.

“That will be all, Your Grace.”

Satine straightened, “Thank you, Prime Minister.”

Pushing her chair back, Satine wandered down to the kitchens remembering she hadn’t eaten breakfast yet today. Unfortunately, the Duchess rounded a corner and walked straight into a gaggle of maids.

“Oh,” one gasped, “forgive us, Your Grace.”

“It’s no worries,” Satine said, rubbing her head, “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Oh no, Your Grace,” a second maid assured, “it was us who wasn’t paying attention.”

The third maid frowned, “Are you well, Your Grace?”

“Why, yes,” Satine nodded, “though a little tired I suppose.”

The first maid gave the third one a harsh look.

“Please excuse us, Your Grace.” the second maid curtsied.

That first encounter didn’t leave her suspicious, but after Satine caught two waiters gossiping about what the guards had heard, and the cooks discussing the Duchess’ eating habits and weight, Satine realized she was the victim of rumors.

Upstairs in her bedroom, the Duchess was shocked to find Fesma and Khaami pulling down her curtains.

“Where-” 

“They’re on the bed.” Fesma answered.

Satine ran to the twins, they were wearing cloth diapers and rolling around on the mattress. She could tell which one was which because Tyra, who had been born with some hair, had a blonde cowlick sticking up towards the ceiling.

“Hello, darlings,” Satine kissed her children’s heads, “now, will you tell me what mother’s ladies are doing?”

“These curtains are made from horse hair.” Fesma replied.

The Duchess gaped.

“I know,” Khaami agreed, seeing Satine’s look, “the species that went extinct three hundred years ago.”

Peaking through the side door, Satine noticed that on her parlor floor sat a whole pile of treasures. Marbled silk scarves, gold-plated vases, candelabras from the dark era, and soon, curtains made from horse hair.

“Yes!” Khaami cried.

Returning her attention to the maids, Satine grinned as the curtains fell on top of her ladies.

“Khaami, I told you to catch it.”

“Well how can I catch it if I can’t see anything!”

The babies giggled. Satine helped Fesma out of the wreckage.

“How are we going to get all this stuff to the forgers?” Khaami asked, throwing the curtains to the side.

“I’ve contacted them about that,” Fesma answered, “they will send agents in as maids to help collect the stuff.”

“Even the vases?” questioned Satine.

“Even those.”

Khaami crossed her arms, “When are they coming?” 

“They will all be here by breakfast tomorrow morning,” Fesma sighed, “they gave us a code phrase and everything.”

“Staggered entry,” the Duchess mused, “these forgers are quite clever.”

Khaami frowned, “They’re criminals, Satine.” 

“Still, they’re helping me save my children.” the Duchess countered.

There came a knock on the door, and everyone froze.

“The crow flies at midnight.”

Satine raised her eyebrows at Fesma.

“Come in.”

The little “maid” who came in was short with raven hair, her eyes lingered on the Duchess, then fell to the twins on the bed.

“Through here,” Satine motioned, “please follow me.”

The imposter maid’s eyes widened at the loot. Then she took out two pieces of paper.

“The DNA tests you requested, Your Grace.”

Satine looked at the tests, then smiled, “Thank you.”

“I’ll start with the scarves,” the imposter maid smiled, showing teeth, “they have to be cleaned after all.”

An hour later, while Satine was preparing Tyra for her journey, another knock pounded on the door.

“The crow flies at midnight.” two male voices harmonized.

“Come in.”

The men who came in were dressed as painters.

“You asked us to restore your vases, Your Grace.” one of them bowed.

“Yes,” Satine pointed, “through there.”

While the criminal painter who spoke to her went to the other room, his accomplice pulled out two pieces of paper.

“The birth certificates you requested, Your Grace.”

Looking at the certificates, Satine tried not to marvel at their authenticity, “Thank you.”

Once the men left, carrying two heavy vases, Khaami returned from changing the twins’ diapers.

“They're gone?” she asked.

“Yes,” Fesma smiled, arranging the papers, “and now I suggest you bring us some lunch.”

Khaami smiled at the babies, “I’ll be back.”

Satine took the twins from her and climbed onto the bed.

“My beautiful little prince and princess.” she cooed.

Tyra, as if knowing her fate, began to sniffle.

“Oh,” Satine frowned, “it’s alright my love, you’re going to be safe with your Uncle Qui-Gon.”

Tyra moaned.

“I would like to give her something,” the Duchess said, looking up, “do you think it would be too dangerous?”

“It might be,” Fesma frowned, “but maybe a necklace, though it can’t be too obviously from the Kryze Clan.”

Satine ran through a mental list of the family jewelry.

“My mother was fond of a warrior’s eye pendant,” the Duchess smiled at the memory, “perhaps I’ll give my daughter that.”

“It would be poetic.” agreed Fesma.

When Khaami returned, Satine sent Fesma to go get her mother’s necklace. She could’ve easily done it herself, but the Duchess wanted to spend as much time with her daughter as she could.

“The crow flies at midnight.”

Satine stood, handing Tyra to Khaami.

“Come in.”

Two older women dressed as seamstresses entered the room. Satine handed them each a curtain.

“Here are the hospital records, Your Grace.” said the first one.

“Thank you.”

The second maid held out her hand, “These are the connected bills, they’re completed.”

“Thank you.” Satine repeated.

The imposter seamstresses left.

“You’re amazing.” Khaami whispered.

“Really?”

“Giving birth to twins in secret,” Khaami stated, “giving them good lives, making sure they’re safe.”

Satine smiled sadly, “It’s what any good mother would do.”

“And you’re a great one.” Khaami agreed.

The Duchess felt unsure at that remark and took Tyra in her arms, preparing to burp her.

“We’ll have to get a nursery set up for Korkie.” observed Khaami.

“True,” Satine smiled wearily, “at least he gets to be near me, even if I can’t acknowledge him as my son.”

“But,” Fesma interjected, closing the door behind her, “when Queen Mara only had an illegitimate son, the court named him her heir.”

“That was a different time,” Satine frowned, “everyone was desperate for a male heir, and Mara refused to marry.”

“But that’s good,” Khaami smiled, “it could mean that your children could be considered legitimate.”

“It is a precedent.” Fesma agreed.

Satine sighed, staring at Tyra in her arms, “Unfortunately Mandalore is still too unstable.”

Once the babies were burped, Satine and her ladies ate lunch. Finally, a fourth imposter, a server, holding brass polish, came and took the candelabras.

He handed Satine a credit receipt, “The transaction is complete.”

“Thank you.”

When he left, Satine realized she had to hide this somewhere secret. Her ladies seemed to reach the same conclusion, as they both averted their eyes. For now, Satine left it in her sock drawer.

“Let’s get the papers ready,” Satine turned to Fesma, who was holding Tyra, “and make sure she’s warm, Master Qui-Gon will be here soon.”

On the night the twins were born, Fesma went out and bought a bag of diapers and two onesies, one purple and one blue. Tyra was dressed in the purple one with her grandmother’s necklace around her throat. Korkie was put in blue.

“Here are the papers,” Fesma said, holding out a paper clipped pile, “the Jedi will need these.”

Satine nodded, Khaami’s comm beeped.

“My lady, a Jedi named Qui-Gon Jinn claimed the Duchess is expecting him, is that true?”

“Yes,” Khaami answered, “Her Grace is most looking forward to his arrival.”

For the last time, Satine held both her daughter and son in her arms, kissing both of them sweetly.

“Say goodbye to your sister, Korkie.”

Korkie cooed.

“Tell your brother you love him, Tyra.”

Tyra giggled.

Satine handed Korkie to Fesma, “Stay here with my son, Khaami will accompany me to the landing pad.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” the lady responded, sensing the solemnity of the moment.

Walking down to the landing pad was the hardest thing Satine ever had to do. She clutched Tyra’s forged papers to her chest and made sure Khaami’s cloak covered the baby, then, she stepped out the door.

Master Qui-Gon disembarked just as Satine stepped out onto the landing pad, and in a burst of emotion, she ran to him in tears.

“Hush now, Satine,” the Jedi Master stroked the Duchess’ head, “it’s all going to be okay.”

“My son, Korkie, is upstairs,” Satine pulled away, wiping her eyes, “but Tyra is here for you.”

Khaami walked forward.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, speaking loudly, “I’m afraid I only have a short while, Duchess, perhaps a walk around the gardens?”

“Of course,” Satine gestured for Khaami to follow, “let us go.”

It took a few sharp turns to lose the guards, but when they did, Satine handed her friend the forged papers. 

“Everything you should need is here,” she whispered, “I’ve given Tyra a necklace, make sure she keeps it.”

“Of course.” the Jedi Master said earnestly.

Khaami came forward and held out her arms.

“This is the Princess Tyra Satine.” she stated.

Qui-Gon smiled warmly and with a gentle touch, took the baby in his arms.

“Hello, Tyra Satine.”

The Duchess steeled herself not to cry as Master Qui-Gon’s ship took off, but when she made it back to her room, Satine burst into tears.

“Oh, Fesma, Khaami, what have I done!”

“What is right,” Fesma said, leaning in front of her with Korkie in her arms, “this is what is best for your daughter.”

“She knows you love her,” Khaami assured, “she will always know.”

Satine swallowed, she would get through this.

“What are we going to do about Korkie? Fesma asked.

The baby gurgled.

Satine straightened, “Try to act surprised when I announce my nephew this evening.”

Clinking her glass, Satine stood, foreboding herself from shaking.

“There is an important family matter that must be shared with this court.”

The room went silent.

Satine tried to act emotional, which wasn’t hard, “I had a brother, he died in the war.”

Whispers sprung up around the table, spreading like wildfire on dry grass.

“My brother had a son, his name is Korkyrach,” Satine tightened her fingers around her glass, “and I have decided to raise him.”

More whispers.

“Your Grace-”

“Thank you for your input, Prime Minister,” Satine sat down, “but I have made up my mind.”

Within the week, the entire Mandalore system knew about Korkie, and Satine was free to love her son in peace. A nursery was set up across the hall from her room and a nanny was hired. What Satine wasn’t expecting, however, was the return of her sister Bo-Katan.

Naturally, her sister had to be dramatic, and had the announcer shout her arrival from the steps before the door opened. Her council gasped, but Satine wasn't surprised to see her sister in Mandalorian armor, it was practically all she wore.

“Bo-”

“I have come to meet my nephew.” Bo-Katan said grandly.

Satine looked to her council, “We will resume in an hour, dismissed.”

Bo-Katan was silent on the way up to the nursery, but Satine couldn’t stop talking. She hadn’t seen her sister since the day their parents were killed and she was whisked away by the former prime minister into Jedi care.

“I’m good, Satine.” Bo-Katan said finally.

The Duchess nodded and led her sister into the nursery.

Bo-Katan smiled when she saw him, “Korkyrach, huh?”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t know Dad, I mean-”

“Yeah.” 

Her father had been an honorable man, and she hated disgracing his legacy this way. Despite their disagreements on the future of Mandalore, she had loved him, and she’d wept when he died.

“He’s got red hair,” Bo-Katan observed, “like me.”

“Mm hm.”

“Satine,” Bo-Katan turned to her sister suddenly, “where did he really come from?”

The Duchess gaped and looked around the room, the nanny was politely waiting outside.

“Bo,” Satine managed to get out, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Her sister’s eyes narrowed and her voice lowered.

“Satine, I know you published the hospital records-”

“And his birth certificate and DNA test.” interjected the Duchess.

Bo-Katan leveled Satine a glare, “But the hospital staff has no recollection or record of the woman who was Korkie’s mother.”

“That's strange,” Satine agreed, “although many records were burned during the war.”

“God fucking dammit, Satine,” Bo-Katan blurted, “our father would never do that!”

“Bo-”

“Is he yours?” Bo-Katan asked pointedly.

“What-”

“Is he yours?”

Satine blinked, she steeled her nerves.

“Bo, I’m not married.”

Bo-Katan crossed her arms, “That didn’t answer my question.”

“Look, who I get with is my own business,” Satine swallowed, thinking of Obi-Wan, “but I could never be so careless to, to-”

“Alright,” Bo-Katan held up her hands, “I guess I just don’t want to believe it.”

#duchess satine #satine kryze #satine x obiwan #fanfic #korkie kryze #korkie kenobi #obi wan kenobi #obitine #obiwan

[duxhess-kryzewan]

Obitine prompt ✨ the first time Obi-Wan comes home late from a mission exhausted and goes to Satine’s flat instead of the Temple.

- Drifting - 

If he were being honest with himself, he should have just gone back to his quarters at the temple. It would have been the easiest thing to do. He would be able to directly meet with the council in the morning, and he truly would have the solitude he would need to meditate.

All that said, he still ended up in front of her door, knocking heavily against it. His mind had been much too cloudy for him to even think of the code.

When it slides open, Satine goes from confused to concerned. Not that he can blame her, he certainly showed up on her doorstep in less than appealing state. Aside from the bruises that he sure were fully formed at this point, he knows she will immediately pick up on just how emotionally drained he was. The things he saw - well, he doesn't want to think about it.

"Obi-Wan," she breathes out and he knows by her tone he must be in worse shape than he though, "What happened?"

Before he can answer she grabs him by the hand and yanks him into her room.

"You look awful." She notes, running her fingertips over his cheeks and down his chest. It was a far cry from the first time she's done so, but she never has once let on that she was used to such things.

"You certainly know how to greet your guests." Its an attempt at joke, but he knows it falls flat. There wasn't much that would get the worried look off her face when he was in such a state.

"I didn't even know if I would see you while I was here," She says quietly, "Padme had said you and Anakin had been gone for weeks."

He squeezes her hand in his own, if only to let her know he wasn't totally beaten down. It works - to an extent, that is - and she manages an uneasy smile.

"Truthfully I didn't know if you were here, I only just got back. I haven't even been to the temple yet. I just-", he swallows thickly, the memories of all he had seen hitting him full force again, "I didn't want to go back there quite yet."

He's overwhelmed with guilt when he sees just how much heartbreak washes over her. She always carried so much weight on her shoulders, and he decided a long time ago he would try to hide his damage around her. Not that it worked that well, she could always read him too well.

​"You know you're always welcome here." She tells him, as if he didn't already know.

"I know."

She leads him into the bedroom without further discussion. Clearly she herself had been in the process of getting ready to go to sleep herself.

He doesn't even protest when she tugs at the hem of his robes and pulls them over his head. In any other instance he would have protested; he's more than capable of undressing himself, but he lacks the energy to protest, and she wouldn't have listened to him even if he tried. ​

She presses a ghost of a kiss to his split lip, trailing her way across the bruises on his cheeks and down to his neck before hugging him to her. There was such a gentleness to her that he still couldn't quite believe existed in a person; yet there she stood.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asks him gently.

He shook his head, "No."

To her credit, she doesn't push him any further despite how much he knows she wants too. They may have been breaking parts of the code that he held so dearly, but he couldn't completely let go of all of his habits. Talking about feelings was not a particularly standard practice there.

He watches as she herself crawls into bed and looks at him, watching as if he were going to turn around and leave instead of coming to lay beside her. Like there was anywhere else in the galaxy he would rather be.

He all but collapses on the bed, the exhaustion that he's felt for days rippling through his body when he touches the soft fabric of her comforter and he can't even bring himself to move up fully beside her.

"You can rest dear." She tells him lightly; a reassurance that he didn't know he needed until it reached his ears.

He settles his head against her abdomen and wraps his arm around her waist. It's a position he rarely finds himself in with her and though he would never admit it allowed, the feeling of her fingers combing lightly through his hair as he listens to the sound of her breathing brings him immense comfort.

And she does exactly that; combing her fingers through his hair lovingly. It was pure luck that she had been visiting Coruscant on a diplomatic summit, rarely do they end up on the same planet at the same time. He's not entirely sure what he would have done if she had been on Mandalore still. Probably stayed there regardless. Not that it would have been the same without her.

"I'm sorry." He mutters against her, though it dawned on him he wasn't exactly sure what for. Barging in on her, perhaps? He did have a way of  uprooting her life every now and again.

"Hush," she tells him, "Don't you dare apologize for coming here. There is no where else I'd rather you be than with me."

He tightens his hold around her and sighs. There were so many tasks that the morning held, but every time he feels her breathe beneath him they fade farther and farther into the back of his head.

 "Goodnight Satine."

She runs her hands through his hair until he finally drifts off.

#obitine #obi wan x satine #obitine fluff #obitine fanfiction #obi wan is tired

[minnarr]

leia meets the prequels gang, pt. 3

Last time, Leia stuck to Padmé and Anakin like a burr; met Obi-Wan and confided in him; and managed to get on Anakin’s bad side. In this section, Leia tries to rest at Obi-Wan’s as the Senate declares war and they both get a surprise.

See all parts at this link

----

The Temple had been like a kicked hive when Leia arrived. By the time Obi-Wan found her again, it seemed to have quieted into sleep at last. “My apologies,” he said, looking somehow even more tired than before. “I have not had an opportunity to make proper arrangements, but I can offer you a bed for the night. I’m afraid the Temple visitors’ quarters are rather overrun at the moment.”

It was strange to enter a Jedi’s quarters. They weren’t quite as ascetic as Leia had imagined; certainly more comfortable than a room on a Rebel base. “You can take Anakin’s room for now, if you don’t mind the mess,” Obi-Wan said. “There’s clean sheets, at least.” He pointed out the fresher, and a set of clean clothes he had found for her.

He hesitated in the middle of his kitchen, looking at her with perplexity.

“Go sleep,” Leia told him. “You look like you need it.”

He nodded, then ducked into his own room, the door closing a moment later.

Leia moved through the strange space, cleaning up as best she could around the bacta patches and aches. It was the first shower she’d had in... Well, it was long overdue. Anakin’s room was a mess; not filthy, just cluttered. There were racing posters, model ships, a worktable filled with mechanical odds and ends. It had the air of a bedroom where he’d grown up, and Leia wondered at that, and felt like an interloper.

When she finally sank into the bed, she expected to sleep immediately. Instead, her head flooded with images and sensations. Finally, she closed her eyes and began to count, following a familiar meditation exercise.

She had let the practice lapse over the last year or so, but it used to be one of her best tools to cope with her childhood panics. She resolved to start doing it regularly again. If nothing else, she could manage that.

Slowly, she managed to quiet the noise in her head and return to blankness.

The next morning, she woke earlier than she wanted to, her body screaming at her but her mind alert. It’s the sun, she realized, and groaned. To her surprise, when she stepped into the kitchen, she found Obi-Wan already there, a mug of caf in hand but his eyes closed. He startled when she took the pot from beside him to pour her own cup.

“Morning,” he said.

She looked him over. “Not enough sleep?”

“I don’t think a week would be enough,” he admitted.

“Agreed,” Leia said, and sat down across from him.

“I have a meeting with the Council this morning,” he said. “The Jedi High Council, I should say. I’m not sure how long it will take, but I will get you better settled in the next day or so. You don’t mind staying around here and resting for a few days, I hope?” His pleading eyes suggested she didn’t have many other choices.

“Has the Senate declared war yet?” Leia asked.

Obi-Wan winced. “No, not yet,” he said. “But the debates are well underway. I’ll leave you a datapad if you want to follow along.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Have you had a medical exam with the Temple healers yet?”

“I think they were busy,” Leia said.

“I’ll make you an appointment. It’s the first step, anyway, if you want to stay in the Temple for a little while.” There was a gap somewhere in there, as if there were another reason to arrange the exam. His mind was probably just wandering, though; anyone’s would be.

“You don’t have to look after me, you know,” Leia said dryly. “I can make whatever appointments I need.”

“Mm.” Obi-Wan rubbed a hand over his beard, blinking at her. “You’re not a Jedi, so you need a sponsor to stay here. That would be me, and it’s my duty to liaise with Temple staff on your behalf. You just may be a bit bored for a few days. I...it might be better if you were to stay here, rather than wandering about the Temple.”

“Your people are gearing up for war, and I’m an unknown,” Leia said. “I understand.” She didn’t like it, but she understood. “I need the rest,” she assured Obi-Wan, and it wasn’t a lie. “I needed it even before we went haring off to Geonosis. I’ll take it while I can get it.”

The next days were an excruciating combination of idleness and expectation. Even hidden away in Obi-Wan's quarters, Leia felt the suffocating tension of these days as the Senate debated, and the Jedi High Council deliberated, and war slowly turned into a reality. She did visit a healer on the second day, who gave her a simple physical exam and took a blood draw to run routine tests. She didn’t stop to see Anakin. After their strange conversation, she wasn’t sure that he would want to.

One evening, Obi-Wan returned to his quarters and went straight to the sofa, settling into it with careful dignity. It looked like if he was any less careful, he would simply fall into it. “The Senate just declared war with the Confederation of Independent Systems,” he said heavily.

Leia set a mug next to Obi-Wan's seat: not caf, but a more soothing tea. “I know,” she said.

He picked up the tea and sipped it, his eyes closed. “We’ve accepted a clone army.”

“I know.”

“I’m a General.”

Leia sat down beside Obi-Wan and turned to him. They didn’t know each other well, but she had known war for far longer than he had, for all his experience getting into and out of fights. She reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, you are General Obi-Wan Kenobi. A man whose strength, compassion, and cunning were such that my— That those who served with you trusted you and remembered you for those qualities.”

“You speak in the past tense about something that hasn’t happened yet,” Obi-Wan said.

“And you’re correcting my grammar on the verge of a war,” Leia said, amused. “You’ll be all right, Obi-Wan. You can do the job in front of you with honor and wisdom.”

“But not success,” he said, looking at her. “Don’t we lose?”

Leia shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe not anymore. Hope is all I have, and there’s a lot more of it go around now.”

With the debates over and a course decided for the Republic, Leia expected Obi-Wan to have a little more time. What she did not expect was for him to come back to his quarters halfway through the next day and pin her with a stare. “You have never been to this Temple?” he asked. “Or any Jedi Temple?”

“No,” Leia said cautiously.

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair. “Just where did you live in this other time? Why did no one find you?”

Leia stood, unsure what had set Obi-Wan off like this. “It depends on who you think should have found me,” she said.

“The Jedi, of course,” Obi-Wan said, and he looked at her again with naked disbelief. “Leia, do you not know that you are incredibly strong in the Force?”

“What?” Leia laughed. “Of course I’m not.”

“You’ve never known things you shouldn’t, or gotten headaches in large crowds? No instances of impossible luck or improbable reflexes? Nothing’s ever come to you inexplicably simply because you needed it desperately?”

Leia frowned and looked away, her scalp tingling. Carefully, she pushed away the nervousness and raised a calm face to Obi-Wan. “Nothing that can’t be explained,” she said. “I used to get intense migraines after parties, or after going down into the city. The doctors said that it was probably linked with my anxiety. Once we got that under control, the headaches became very infrequent.”

“Forgive me for prying,” Obi-Wan said, finally finding a semblance of calm again, “but how did you get that anxiety under control?”

“Counseling sessions,” Leia said, not sure where he was going with this. “Meditation. Making sure I kept up healthy habits.”

“Leia, these are things that a strongly empathetic Force user can experience, if they are left untrained,” Obi-Wan said. “People’s minds—the energy of them, their emotions and surface thoughts—press in on you if you are unshielded and can quickly become overwhelming. It is possible, I suppose, that the meditation you did helped you to build up mental shields. But your shields are too strong to be merely accidental.”

“You mean,” Leia said, “the walls around my thoughts?” She had maintained them for half her lifetime. It had been described to her as an emotional control technique by her meditation teacher. Of course, they had helped her hide her true feelings in the Imperial Senate, and she had fallen back on them when she had nothing else at Darth Vader’s hands.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “They are a simple but very subtle shielding technique. I did not know that you had shields in place until I specifically went looking for them.”

Leia pulled back, glaring at him. “You went poking in my mind?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said. “Merely brushed against its boundaries. I believe you felt it, just now, because I also felt you shut me out.”

Leia shuddered, and for a moment the memory of Vader came back to her, terrifyingly real. Had he probed her mind along with everything else he had done? Everything had been so mixed up in bone-deep terror and pain that it was hard to separate out what was physical and what was something else. For a moment, she heard the amplified hiss of his breath, felt his physical presence looming over her. And then she breathed, and she was just looking up at Obi-Wan.

“If not by my shields, how did you find out that I am like you?” she asked.

“The blood test the healers took,” Obi-Wan said. “If I had known it would come back positive—if I had known that it would be so high—I would not have...”

“What did you do?” Leia said, hearing the growl in her voice.

“It is a simple test,” Obi-Wan started.

“That you do without patients’ consent?”

“That is part of a typical intake exam for those entering the Temple,” Obi-Wan said. “It is not part of the standard physical for adult visitors or staff, no, but I suggested a full work-up, and generally that includes the midichlorian count.”

Leia closed her eyes. He had violated medical ethics in a way that troubled her. She claimed to be a time traveler who had arrived just at the cusp of an intergalactic war. That he had awarded her the trust and consideration he did was a gift, she told herself, though it didn’t soothe her anger. “You haven’t been jumping at shadows around me,” she said. “So why order the test?”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said.

“He was suspicious of me,” Leia said.

“He was, and he did more than test your shields. He tried to reach into your mind to see if you were trustworthy, and he failed.” Obi-Wan held up a hand when Leia opened her mouth, outraged. “After I was done telling him how wrong that was, I suggested that it might be the effect of pain medication, but he was very insistent. And I...I wondered.”

“So I’m strong in the Force,” Leia said. “What are you planning to do with that?”

“That’s a very good question. It’s not often that we find people who are strong but untrained so late in life,” he said. “I have encountered one or two in my time who never saw the Jedi temple or joined one of the other Force traditions we recognize, but they were not happy meetings. When we brought Anakin to the Temple, he was considered shockingly old.”

“How old was he?”

“Nine.”

Leia blinked at Obi-Wan. “I am nineteen,” she said flatly. “And I’ve done just fine on my own. Perhaps nobody needs to know.”

Obi-Wan considered, his eyes troubled. “Perhaps it would have been better that way. Perhaps we still could keep it secret, but if you are to stay here…”

“What other option is there?”

“You could tell the Council how you came here,” Obi-Wan suggested.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t know them,” Leia said.

“And you know me so well?”

“I can honestly say I never met you before Padmé introduced us, but my father trusted you, and that’s worth a lot.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes sparked with interest. “Your father?”

Leia had no template for a safe way to operate in this situation. If she took no risks, then she might cut off opportunities. Her heart ached to hear her father’s voice again, to see his face, even if it was much younger than she had ever known it. He might be on Coruscant now; he already held the Senate seat for Alderaan. Impulsively, she said, “Bail Organa.”

“Bail’s daughter,” Obi-Wan said, his eyebrows rising, and looked her over as if seeing her for the first time. “You are not what I would expect from a princess of Alderaan,” he said, nonplussed.

“I was raised in interesting times,” Leia said. Taking pity on him, she added, “I was adopted. I have no idea who my birth parents were. Wherever this,” she waved her hand, “Force, whatever, comes from, it’s not from Bail and Breha Organa.”

“Well. Wherever it comes from, there's something else to take into consideration before you decide not to confide in the Council. Those unhappy meetings I mentioned,” he said. “The more that you hide, the more likely they are to suspect you of being a dark side Force-user, perhaps an acolyte to someone powerful and dangerous.”

Leia frowned. Obi-Wan was young, but...they were at the beginning of the Clone Wars; her father had spoken of him as a man entrusted with much responsibility even then. “They won’t trust your judgement?”

“Some Council members believe my judgement to be...clouded, in such cases.” Obi-Wan's tone spoke of mild amusement, but there was something shuttered behind his eyes. “Anakin, you see. He is powerful like you, and many still believe it was dangerous for us to train him. It was I who finally made them agree to take him, and who oversaw his training.”

“Why dangerous? Surely it’s more dangerous to let something like this go untrained, if what you told me about my headaches is correct.” Her parents must have known what she was. Leia knew from her work with the Rebellion how dangerous the galaxy was for children strong in the Force. They must have known, and taken quiet steps to protect her.

“It’s not as simple as a skill to be learned. Those who do not train from a young age in the ways of the Jedi are at risk of being corrupted by the dark side of the Force. There are powers in the galaxy right now—”

Leia cut him off. “But it’s not inevitable.”

“No. With all my heart, I believe it is not inevitable. But not all of the Council does, and even those who do...Leia.” Obi-Wan stopped, trying to marshal his words. “Let’s just say that they have very good reason to be wary of unknown Force-users right now. Please, be open with them.”

“Not yet.” Leia shook her head. “They have no reason to believe me—honestly, Obi-Wan, I don’t know why you believe me.”

“I don’t know, either,” Obi-Wan muttered. He sat in one of the chairs at last. “All right, we won’t tell the Council yet, though it goes against all of my training. But you should decide what you’re going to do about Anakin’s suspicions. I know him, and he never drops anything.”

“You vouching for me won’t be enough?”

Obi-Wan laughed shortly. “Not without an explanation, and definitely not without telling him I investigated.”

“I’ll…talk to him,��� Leia said. “If you think he’ll see me again.”

#star wars fic #star wars #leia organa #obi-wan kenobi #minnafics #prequels gang plus leia

[swhurtcomfort]

Can be read as a sequel to (x) if desired - tl;dr,  Padmé tips Obi-Wan off that Anakin is teetering on the edge of an emotional breakdown. Anakin comes home in the middle of the night and Obi-Wan takes care of him and lulls him to sleep with the Force.

...

Anakin sat up and was immediately assaulted by the need to sneeze, several times in succession.

“Gah,” he whined nasally when he was finally able to draw a breath in. He felt a hand guiding him back down to lay on the pallet.

“I know.” That was Obi-Wan’s voice, tinny as if it were coming from the end of a long tunnel. He handed Anakin a handkerchief.

Anakin took it gratefully and blew his nose. He lied back down with a groan of discomfort.

“Shh,” said Obi-Wan. “It’s little wonder you’re ill, Anakin, you’ve not been taking care of yourself. I suspect this is a long time coming.”

He’d pushed himself too hard for too long, and the moment he had let down his defenses his body had betrayed him. Anakin turned his head and saw the sun high behind the blinds. The morning was half over.

That was bizarre, Anakin never slept in. He realized that he didn’t remember any unpleasant awakenings the previous night. Obi-Wan’s sleep suggestion had nudged him right into a deep, mercifully dreamless sleep.

Anakin sniffed, and a little shudder ran up his back. “I’m cold,” he croaked.

“That’s your fever. It spiked quite high a few hours ago,” Obi-Wan whispered. “You should sleep more if you can.”

Anakin slept. The fever dreams were soft and fuzzy, and he couldn’t quite remember what they’d been about, but it was at least a nice change from waking up with his heart racing and gory images pressing in on his mind. He woke once to the sensation of something occluding his ear, but it was only Obi-Wan taking his temperature.

The thermometer withdrew from his ear. “It’s come down a bit,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

And he did.

When Anakin finally came around for good, he felt more like a human again. There was a glass of water waiting for him on the bedside table – bless Obi-Wan’s soul.

As he took a long draught he glanced at the rest of the clutter on the table. The medkit sat open with the thermometer lying on top, a bowl of water with a cloth soaking in it, several handkerchiefs, and Obi-Wan’s commlink. He realized with a pleasant jolt that his former master really had been fussing over him.

He drained the glass of water and blew his nose, then picked up the commlink to check the time and nearly dropped it in surprise. It was late afternoon, but that wasn’t what shocked him. Obi-Wan had two unread messages from Padmé Amidala.

Anakin couldn’t open or read the messages without Obi-Wan’s password, so he put the commlink down. He supposed they could be professional correspondence…but when he and Obi-Wan had acted as Padmé’s protectors their communication had always been over datapad, and had usually come from the Senate or at least one of her staffers, not Padmé herself. They were always very careful to keep their personal and professional messages separate, for secrecy’s sake.

Of course, Obi-Wan wouldn’t have to worry about that because he had nothing to hide. Unless…

No. Anakin smirked to himself. He was pretty sure that Obi-Wan only had eyes for his one true love, the Jedi Code. Anakin had even laughed out loud at Senator Palpatine when the old man suggested otherwise. It had seemed preposterous. But…

No, Obi-Wan would never. And for that matter, Padmé would never. Anakin clenched his fist at the thought. No. Padmé was pregnant with his child. She loved him, and only him. He refused to doubt that.

Anakin wasn’t sure what emotion was making his heart beat like that, but he told himself it was amusement. What a silly suspicion. He dragged himself upright and put clean clothes on before venturing out of the bedroom. His sinuses were congested, and the pressure felt like it was squeezing his head.

“Ugh,” he complained as he shuffled into the common area where Obi-Wan was silently working.

“You should’ve stayed in bed,” said Obi-Wan mildly, sipping his tea.

There was enough hot water at the bottom of Obi-Wan’s teapot for about three quarters of a cup, so Anakin helped himself.

“Did I miss lunch?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“And the Council Meeting?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “I let them know why. It’s alright, Anakin, you clearly needed the rest.” Obi-Wan stood up and walked to the cooling unit. “When the refectory starts serving dinner in an hour, I’ll go pick us up some real food. But here,”

He walked around the table to where Anakin was sitting and placed before him another supplement drink like the one he had made last night.

Anakin had been given the same type of drink during his first few months at the Temple, to help him catch up in height and weight after years of poor nutrition. He smiled—after all this time, Obi-Wan remembered which flavor he liked best.

The smile faded quickly. He sipped at the shake, then gathered up his courage. “Have you, um, heard from Senator Amidala lately?”

Obi-Wan gave him a curious look. “Well, no. It’s been quite a long time since the Order has had resources to spare for supplying bodyguards to senators.”

The fearful suspicion in Anakin’s chest flickered up like a flame in sharp wind. Why would he lie? “Well, um, maybe you should check your comm then—you left it in my room,” he said pointedly.

“Ah.” Obi-Wan paused to sip his tea.

“I didn’t realize the two of you talked,” said Anakin.

“Infrequently,” Obi-Wan shrugged.

Anakin knew that he was tipping his hand—if it turned out there was some innocent explanation for this, Obi-Wan would know exactly what to make of Anakin’s obvious jealousy. But his heart was racing, and his mental shields were wavering.

“Anakin, you are making this up to be something it isn’t,” said Obi-Wan calmly.

“Am I?” Anakin didn’t care that he was shouting.

“Yes. Calm down.”

“I think I have a right to know if—if—”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Would you really like the truth?”

Anakin sat back in his chair, arms folded expectantly.

“Very well.” Obi-Wan mirrored Anakin’s posture, and took a moment to choose his phrasing. “I reached out to Padmé for the first time last autumn.”

Anakin sucked in a sharp breath. Last autumn had been one of the most vulnerable times in his life, in the wake of Ahsoka’s departure.

“It was the week after she left,” Obi-Wan elaborated, knowing that Anakin understood who he was referring to. “After the night you stormed out on me. You didn’t come back to the Temple for days.”

Anakin tilted his head in acknowledgement. He remembered. He had lashed out at Obi-Wan’s attempts to comfort him, then run away to Padmé’s apartment.

“I didn’t know if—I just wanted to know that you were alright, Anakin. Padmé tried to cover for you, but once I confessed that I knew about your relationship and promised that all I wanted was confirmation that you were someplace safe, she admitted that you were staying with her.”

Anakin gave him a horrified look. “You…wait, what?”

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly. “We were worried. I’m still worried. There were a few other times we checked in after that, when you seemed like you might be a danger to yourself or one of us couldn’t find you.”

“Like last night?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “She messaged me after you left her apartment. She said you were sleep-deprived and agitated, and asked me to confirm that you got home safely. So I did.”

“Wait, back up,” said Anakin with a shake of his head. “You knew? You know all of it?”

“Perhaps not everything,” Obi-Wan admitted. “But I have long known that you care for her, and that when you sneak out of the Temple late at night, you are visiting her. I know that she has declined to publically name the father of her child—as is her right—so I can only presume to guess about that.”

“Argh,” Anakin tilted back in his chair, raking his fingers across his scalp.

“I know it’s been an awful year,” Obi-Wan stammered. “Sometimes it seemed like…I’m sorry, it seemed like Ahsoka was the only thing keeping you in the Order and now—”

“It’s hard,” Anakin interrupted, setting all four legs of the chair down with a thud. “I hope you realize how hard it is for me to look at all the facts at once. The Council did this to her. They kicked her out and left her at Tarkin’s mercy and you didn’t try to stop them—I think maybe you even agreed with them. But I know you cared about her, too, and that you didn’t want this to happen. I hope you know how hard it is to reconcile those two things.”

Obi-Wan looked like he’d been slapped in the face. “I do know,” he breathed.

Obi-Wan waited for a moment, before continuing. “I understand why it’s hard for you to be around me right now. I’ve been trying to give you space.”

“You have?” Anakin sniffled.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“I thought maybe,” Anakin had to pause to sneeze. He hated the way the congestion distorted his voice; it made him feel even more vulnerable opening up. “I had a feeling like you were angry with me. I thought maybe it was because of how I reacted—how I defied the council to try and exonerate her, and how I let my emotions get away from me.”

“No,” said Obi-Wan, almost in a whisper. His voice had been getting progressively quieter as Anakin’s grew louder. “Never, Anakin. I thought you were angry with me.”

“Well, I was,” said Anakin, mostly to cover up the overwhelming relief that was gripping him. “I felt like the Council was taking everything away from me—even taking you away from me. Sometimes I start shaking and it’s like I can’t think, Master. And I’m just so angry. But it always starts to feel meaningless after a while. Like, what’s my anger going to do? It’s not like I haven’t already pushed everyone away.”

Anakin wasn’t sure exactly when the tears had welled up in his eyes, but he held them back. It was aggravating his sinuses. He sniffed hard.

Obi-Wan, who seemed to have an endless supply of handkerchiefs in the pockets of his robes, handed one over.He suddenly needed Obi-Wan to say something—anything—even another lecture about attachment would’ve been better than the silence. It felt like judgement.

Anakin turned away before the tears fell against his will.

“Wait,” Obi-Wan murmured. Anakin ignored him.

“Why can’t you tell me?” Obi-Wan asked. He took a step forward, and Anakin stopped.

“I couldn’t. You never — I mean, if you ever found out about...”

“About what?”

The feverishness and the lack of rest and general crappiness of his mood were making him more loose-lipped than ever. “Just stop. I don’t want you to try and fix it. I don’t need another meditation lesson. So sorry, Master dear, your padawan is so unteachable—”

“You stop,” Obi-Wan countered. “You are deliberately goading me so that I’ll get angry too and justify this little—” He almost said tantrum, but he realized that the barb was exactly what Anakin wanted.

“You really want to know? Be my guest,” Anakin snapped. He turned back to face Obi-Wan and pushed brazenly into his former master’s mind, straining their old bond.

He showed Obi-Wan the images that haunted backs of his eyelids at night—memories real or distorted, and projections into a terrible future. Padmé’s life energy fading out as she lay in a medical cot. Blood seeping into Tatooine sand, glimmering with the reflection from his lightsaber. Ahsoka in tears, demanding to know why he remained loyal to the Order that had failed her—or sometimes it was Fives and Tup who stood before him, begging for the same explanation. Obi-Wan’s head lolling back as he lay limp in Ahsoka’s arms, a bloody gaping hole in his chest.

He felt a sharp spike of guilt through their bond at the last image, and Obi-Wan’s presence began to retreat, shields slamming back down.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, stunned.

“I can’t sleep,” Anakin confessed. “It’s taken over me. I want out.”

“Anakin, no,”

Anakin trembled, hoping Obi-Wan wasn’t about to counter with some sage advice about healers or the will of the Force, because if he did Anakin might just punch him.

But what happened was the last thing that he expected. A hand on his shoulder, guiding him forward as Obi-Wan’s other arm wrapped around. Anakin accepted the comfort, pressing his face into the fabric of Obi-Wan’s shoulder heedless of his snotty tearful self. He was shocked how easy it was just to let Obi-Wan hold him.

Anakin withdrew from the hug to blow his nose, and Obi-Wan sank wearily down into the sofa. “You know, mine are usually about you,” he said hesitantly.

“Your what?” Anakin asked, sitting beside him.

“Nightmares. Sometimes it’s Qui-Gon, or Master Tahl. But mostly you. There’s one where I’m with you in the Halls of Healing just after you lost your arm, and you’re distraught, and Vokara Che is yelling at me because I couldn’t protect you.”

Anakin stared, and Obi-Wan suddenly looked like he regretted the sudden confession.

“More like she was yelling at you for being out of your own healing bed,” Anakin quipped, trying to ease the tension. Obi-Wan had nightmares. This is the first he’s heard of it.

“How come you never said?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan gave the outward appearance of thriving under pressure, always composed and just a little bit distant. It was a sad realization, but also a comforting one. Until now, he had barely stopped to consider that Obi-Wan might be struggling too.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and ignored the question.

Anakin glanced at the supplement shake still sitting mostly untouched on the table. It occurred to him that Obi-Wan wouldn’t have had them on hand unless his own healer had prescribed them, which meant she wasn’t happy with the way he’d been eating lately.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin nagged.

“I didn’t think you needed any more burdens, Padawan,” he finally said.

Anakin didn’t know how to explain that it wouldn’t have been a burden. Force, he thought he’d been suffering alone—he’d thought it made him a bad Padawan, and a worse Master. He wondered if the war had been eating Ahsoka alive from the inside too, in ways that he couldn’t see.

Anakin leaned back into the sofa and let his side rest against Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan exhaled softly in amusement, but accepted the use of his shoulder as a pillow.

“I wish I could stop missing her so much,” he mumbled into Obi-Wan’s robe.

“Anakin, it’s alright. Ahsoka’s not gone, but your life together is, and it’s alright to grieve for that.”

“We’re always grieving something or other,” Anakin shrugged. “That’s how life goes.”

“No.” Obi-Wan said, slipping his hand into Anakin’s. “It isn’t supposed to be like this.”

There was no answer for that.

“You never got to learn what it means to be a Jedi in peacetime,” Obi-Wan stated. “I hope that you will someday.”

Anakin tried to imagine it, and shook his head. The Jedi Order and the war were inseparable in his mind. There was really no ‘before’ for him – there had been a few years before the clones and the open warfare, sure, but by the time Maul was discovered the gears had already been turning. He doubted that Obi-Wan really knew what it was to be a Jedi in peacetime either.

Obi-Wan pressed the back of his hand briefly to Anakin’s forehead, but he said nothing.

“I am sorry for talking behind your back with Padmé,” Obi-Wan volunteered. “But I am not sorry that there was another pair of eyes looking out for you.”

Anakin shifted his weight on the sofa. “She was always begging me to talk to you about stuff, but I didn’t think…well, I didn’t know how you would react.”

“Well, then I’m sorry for that too,” said Obi-Wan. “I really hope you feel safe enough to turn to at least one of us.”

“I’ll try,” said Anakin, and he meant it. “But only if you will too.”

#anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #hurt/comfort #sickfic #fever #emotional hurt/comfort #poor anakin's careening towards a breakdown #and obi-wan is too but like more internally #cuddly jedi #mentions of anidala #discussion of the wrong jedi arc #they're gonna be okay #long post #and i mean loooong this was supposed to be 800 words and it turned into 2500

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

Acquisition, Part III (Vaderwan)

Someone actually had a prompt to this effect (that disappeared from my inbox) and I was already going that way... Another nonny was curious about what would happen after Vader told Obi-Wan to sleep in his own room (instead of hiding out in Luke’s). Previous parts to Acquisition.

___________________________

Obi-Wan spent the night undisturbed.

Vader had Luke up and on his lap eating toast and fruit before Obi-Wan rose the next morning; the boy was a spot of bright blue and green against the black of Vader’s armor.

After breakfast, Vader left Luke in Obi-Wan's care and disappeared for the day, joining them at the table as they had late meal in the evening. Obi-Wan was trying to help Luke eat a thick stew broth with a spoon, but eventually gave up and let the boy sip directly from the bowl. The tilt of Vader’s helm and the way he held his body made Obi-Wan think he was amused.

During Luke's bedtime story, Vader loomed in the doorway, listening.

When Obi-Wan bent to kiss Luke’s upturned face goodnight, a hand pressed against the small of his back and dropped away as he straightened. Vader stood next to the bed, crowding into Obi-Wan's space, but he didn't say anything and didn't try to stop Obi-Wan as he brushed past him, heading for the door.

That night and the following nights, he spent undisturbed; the days were spent in more strange domesticity.

As they moved around one another each day, strange binary stars, Vader lay they occasional light touch on him. On his back, shoulders, arms, hands; each time, his hands dropped away as Obi-Wan became aware of the touch. He expressed low, huffed amusement as Luke shared his dessert by shoving a piece of cake into Obi-Wan’s mouth. There was peace in the slope of his shoulders as he sat across the living room, watching Luke drift to sleep against Obi-Wan’s chest as Obi-Wan read to him.

It was almost…pleasant.

On the fifth night, sometime after he’d put Luke to bed, there was a knock at his bedroom door.

“My Lord?”

“Were you asleep?” Vader asked.

“Reading.”

“You can do that anywhere. Come with me. Bring your book.”

Obi-Wan followed Vader across the hall and into his rooms, hesitating briefly at the door before stepping inside. He'd like to think he didn't jump when the door closed behind him with a wave of Vader's hand.

Vader's room was part living area, part office. On one wall, there was a vid screen, a soft looking sofa and chairs surrounding it. On the opposite wall, a work table, steel, rubber and plastic components littering the surface and for a moment Obi-Wan flashes back to Anakin's room at the temple, the multitude of things he was always tinkering with.

And in between the domesticity of entertainment and hobbies, was a desk and computer terminal, vidphone, holomap reader and a rather comfortable looking desk chair that Vader sat in, watching him. He looked out of place.  

It was a very normal room.

“Sit down, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan skirted the edges of the room, sparing a glance at the closed door on the far end of the room, wondering briefly what was behind it, and slipped into the overstuffed chair beneath a reading lamp. The lamp clicked on before he could touch it. When he looked up, Vader was engrossed with something on his terminal. He spared no glance at Obi-Wan. And when minutes ticked by without that changing, Obi-Wan spread his book open on his lap and began to read.

It happened again the next night. And the one after. Once Luke was put to bed, Vader either herded Obi-Wan to his rooms immediately after or – if he'd been absent as Obi-Wan read to Luke – he showed up at Obi-Wan's bedroom door with a few hours.

On the seventh night, Obi-Wan asked why.

Silence stretched, filled with the rasp of Vader's breathing. “It pleases me to have you close.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“Your presence is soothing.”

Obi-Wan’s second eyebrow joined the first near his hairline before he got his expression under control.

He remembered Anakin saying something similar when he sought Obi-Wan out when something troubled him, whether it was arguments with other padawans or, later, his insecurities about teaching Ahsoka.

But that was Anakin.

A Sith seeking to be soothed.  That was something else.

“Even with this?” Obi-Wan ran his finger over the plating of his collar.

“The collar mutes your connection to the Force. You still shine bright as a star to anyone who can see it.”

“Lucky them.” Obi-Wan knew he sounded bitter, found he didn’t care.

Vader’s helm fixed its placid gaze on him. “I can fix that. I can get a new collar. You won't be able to use the Force, but you will be able to sense it. After a fashion.”

Obi-Wan's fingers twitched over the top of his book and, while Vader didn't move, Obi-Wan could feel his gaze trailing from his face to his fingertips and back. He carefully shuttered his expression. To feel the Force again. To sense it, even if he couldn’t touch it, wield it. The idea made Obi-Wan's chest ache.

There must be a catch.

“I’ll think about it,” Obi-Wan said, turning back to his book.

Shared evenings became the new normal.

Sometimes Vader engaged him in conversation. At others, he left Obi-Wan to his own devices, reading or watching the news on the holonet.

Obi-Wan found himself observing Vader as he bent over a datapad, staring inscrutably at news of skirmishes in the mid-rim, in what were once Republic strongholds now chafing under Imperial rule.

On several occasions, Vader asked Obi-Wan a leading question, on history or politics or even the state of the Empire’s expansion. They were meant to make him respond with incredulity, even outrage. And Obi-Wan, emerging from the depths of his book, was often deep into an answer before he realized what Vader had done.

It reminded him so much of Anakin that something deep inside him cracked every time, threatened to shatter.

Then something did shatter.

Obi-Wan turned on the bed, could feel the cool sheets beneath his fingertips, twisting around his legs. But his mind was awash in memory. He and Anakin, during their final mission as Master and Padawan, at negotiations on some small planet wishing to join the Republic in the wake of Separatist encroachment. The quarters they had been given were simple, with a small bed and ensuite ‘fresher.

They had argued over the bed, ending in an agreement to trade off nights. On their last evening, Obi-Wan had the bed.

And that was where dream parted from reality.

Obi-Wan woke to Anakin crawling into the bed next to him, over him. He could see the gleam of moonlight in his padawan’s eyes, off the curve of Anakin’s new mechanical arm.

“Master,” Anakin whispered. The whisper fell against Obi-Wan’s lips. It was followed by the warmth of Anakin’s mouth. His lips were faintly chapped, tongue a lush wet heat. The hands that slipped beneath Obi-Wan’s tunic were hot. Long fingers plucked at his nipples and scratched down his chest, slid beneath the waist band of his sleep pants.

“Tell me to stop, Obi-Wan and I will. Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want this and it ends.” Anakin followed each command with a kiss to Obi-Wan’s mouth, smothering Obi-Wan’s words. Anakin’s fingers wrapped around him, cool compared to his erection, and Obi-Wan couldn’t stop himself from thrusting into the grip reflexively. A sweet, sharp twist of Anakin’s hand had him groaning.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to a ceiling full of blue shadows. The same shades that swam through Anakin’s eyes as he knelt over him. Obi-Wan’s muscles seized and his orgasm rushed through him, unstoppable. He threw his head back against the pillow, gasping.

He lay there for some time after, listening to his slowing heart rate, feeling his semen cooling sticky on his belly, watching the dream drift away like smoke on the early morning air, leaving him alone, chilled, smelling of sex and wondering at what his mind was trying to tell him by coming up with a fiction that felt so much like reality.

 The dream followed him as he started his day. At breakfast, he listened to Luke chattering to Vader, speaking only when directly addressed, leaving Vader to mind Luke, only half paying attention as Vader had to Force catch a piece of toast that went sailing off the toddler’s plate when he tired of eating.

“Obi-Wan.” Vader’s hand was on his shoulder. “Luke wants his bath.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, rising. Vader’s hand slid heavily down his arm to rest on his wrist.

“Is there something the matter, Obi-Wan?” The black helm was cocked to the side and the move was so familiar, Obi-Wan could imagine Anakin raising his eyebrows.

“Everything’s fine,” Obi-Wan said, moving quickly to lift Luke from his chair. “I didn't sleep well. That's all.”

“Bad dreams?”

Obi-Wan paused, unsure if there was something knowing in Vader's voice or if it were his own paranoia making him hear things.

“After a fashion,” he finally said, and whether that was answer enough or not, Vader didn't stop him as he left the room with Luke in his arms.

 Luke was difficult during his bath, fussing and making sure Obi-Wan got just as wet as he did. The fussiness continued after the bath, as Luke picked up and discarded toys, pushed away the book Obi-Wan offered to read to him, before finally sitting down in a corner next to his plush hawk-bat and picking morosely at its fur.

Obi-Wan wondered how much of his own mood Luke might be picking up on. Sitting in a corner and doing nothing sounded appealing to him too. A passing speeder caught his eye through the window and the bright blue curve of sky and green tree tops led his gaze to the grounds. Grounds he’d never been on.

“Luke, would you like to do something different today?”

As soon as they were outside, Luke begged to be put down and Obi-Wan released him, with an admonition to stay close as they walked in the early summer sun. Luke trotted in front of him, occasionally pausing to look at a particularly interesting bug or one of the large rocks that lined the walking path and sometimes running back to Obi-Wan to gift him a small pebble.

They walked until they reached the edge of the property with its sprawling lake. Obi-Wan remembered it from the map of the grounds he had seen a few weeks after Vader brought him here. The water reflected the blue of the sky.

Taking off their shoes, they sat at the water’s edge. Luke made constructions from the soft mud and babbled excitedly when he caught the flash of silver and blue fish in the shallows.

“If you put your hand in the water,” Obi-Wan told him, “and hold very still, you might be able to touch one.”

Luke, eyes wide, did as Obi-Wan suggested. Eventually, and one by one, curiosity got the better of the fish and they swam close, investigating Luke's fingers, looking for any signs of food.  Luke shifted to touch them and they shot off through the water in flurry of shining colors, making him laugh and try again.  Eventually he bored of the fish and turned his attention to the small water fowl dotting the line of the shore, chasing them into the shallows to watch them submerge and come up several meters away, chattering at him.

A knot of shame tightened in Obi-Wan's stomach as he watched Luke play and wondered when the boy had last been outside. Truly outside. He hadn’t even entertained the idea, so caught up in his own grief and worries. And for what? He had no plans to run, no path of escape. Why run when the running exhausted him? Why hide when he would be found? Why fight with sabers and side-arms when he could fight with words and teachings? Why search for a future in the Outer Rim when the one that mattered was right here?

Obi-Wan looked up and found Luke gone. He was on his feet before he registered moving, heading toward the water. There, on a little spit of rock, crouched Luke. He was reaching for a shiny water violet that floated just out of reach.

The air thickened, weighing Obi-Wan down. His feet sank into the soft sand. Time itself seemed to slow. And he watched Luke falter, try to catch himself and tumble into the water, disappearing beneath the silver sheen.

He didn’t resurface.

With a gasp of Obi-Wan’s breath, time restarted and Obi-Wan was waist deep in water in a moment, flinging himself to the spot where Luke’s blond head had vanished, diving and resurfacing empty handed multiple times, unable to see anything through the stirred up silt.

A tingle ran down the length of his spine, sizzling hot. He had enough preservational awareness to consider the collar, even as he dove again. His fingers reached, grasped, finally closed around a soft arm and pulled.

He broke the surface with Luke in his hands and felt the collar short. For a micro-moment, all that he was and had been came flooding back to him. He could feel the fish stirring in the lake, the birds flying overhead, hear the trees whispering. The bright spot that was Luke nearly blinded him.

He wanted to revel in it.

But then came pain, burning through him, making his jaw clench so hard he was sure his teeth cracked. He reached, grasped the Force as he hadn’t in months, brought it to wrap around Luke and propelled the boy up and through the air to the shoreline.

He heard him cough, heard him cry.

And then heard nothing else as his world was eclipsed by a star inside his brain going nova.

The last thing he remembered was the water rushing over his head.

#vaderwan #obikin #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #darth vader #luke skywalker #toddler luke #obi wan #swfic #star wars #star wars: revenge of the sith #acquisition #obiwanxvader

[sl-walker]

Taking Flight: SICKFIC! One of them gets sick and the other plays nursemaid.

“I’ll be fine, I just need–”

Obi-Wan cut himself off with an explosive sneeze, sending Maul jumping backwards to run into a chair, which he promptly tripped over.

“–a tissue,” the Padawan finished, miserable and nasal.

As Maul looked up at the ceiling, he thought that the start of the day was likely to set the tone for the rest of it, and signed out before rolling over and getting back to his feet, the long bones of his wings jarred from being landed on.

--

--

“Bone broth,” Savage said, sagely, as he absently bounced Feral on his hip, moving around the small but very cozy pair of rooms which served as his home in the Temple.  Despite being offered larger ones, something about the bigger spaces seemed to make him uneasy; at first, he just looked terribly beleaguered, but some gentle questioning finally revealed that he was used to living in a small hut on Dathomir and the size of a common set of rooms in the Temple was overwhelming to him.

Thus, he quite literally lived in a pair of re-purposed old supply closets close to the Tranquility Gardens, though they were retrofitted with a truly tiny kitchenette and an at least full-sized ‘fresher in the main bedroom.  There were a couple of bean-chairs in the living area, a collapsible play area for Feral and a decent sized bed, but not a whole ton of room to move, especially when one had wings.

Maul hoped someday his older brother would be more comfortable with living here, but until then, if living in closets helped Savage adjust, then who was he to complain?

Savage often seemed lost even now, but if there was one place his confidence had a chance to shine, it was in care-taking.  Maul had not failed to notice the way his brother’s eyes would light up, the way his shoulders would square, when Maul approached him as a younger brother needing assistance.  Thus, it made perfect sense from several perspectives to come to him first, about Obi-Wan’s cold.

“How long does it take to make?” Maul asked, taking Feral when Savage handed the still tiny Nightbrother off, holding him and failing utterly in not beaming like an idiot when Feral beamed at him, holding that goofy eye contact for a moment with his own brows up.

“A day, done well.  But I can have some in eight hours,” Savage answered, certainly. “That will fix your– Obi-Wan.”

“I can get bones.  I think.”

Savage shook his head, unable to hide a grin as Maul and Feral mugged at one another, pulling faces until Feral started giggling. “No, stay with him.  I will get them.”

Given how much child-care Maul had been roped into since joining Temple life, he didn’t even try to groan at the prospect of playing babysitter.  And besides, it was good to get Savage out and interacting; he did very well with crechelings, and he got on okay with the kitchen staff – absent some mutual posturing on both sides about their cooking abilities – but he was still trying to find his way.

“All right,” Maul said, with a clearly insincere put-upon sigh. “I suppose that means you want to go and visit Issa?” he asked Feral, and Feral nodded hugely.

--

--

“I can fix it!” Issa said, shoving her stuffed tooka into Feral’s arms and then bolting off.  Maul looked after her in bemusement while Feral hugged on Stripey and chatted at him, most of it talking about how fingerpainting was the best and that Issa was going to paint with him tomorrow and they were going to make trees.

There were things which were changing in the Temple; a certain weight in the air that was starting to make things feel just that bit off.  But here, with Issa, or at home with Obi-Wan, or slowly building a relationship with his brothers, Maul was able to tune it out.  No one had turned unkind, no one had been cruel.  But things were starting to feel different; almost restless.

He was turning over those thoughts briefly, when Issa came running back out with the oddest looking stuffed rancor he’d ever seen.  Made of some sort of felt, it was clearly hand-sewn by little fingers with thick black thread, and had giant fangs fabric-glued all over its face to go with its black button eyes.

Maul chewed down a laugh, not over the artistry, but just– imagining Obi-Wan’s face when he handed that over.

“I made him for you, his name is Bloodfang Killgore,” Issa said, shoving the stuffed rancor – fairly large, too! – into his arms. “But Obi-Wan can hold him too.”

Maul almost choked at that name, but somehow – by some miracle – he managed to keep from laughing. “Fierce looking.  The cold won’t stand a chance.”

Issa beamed up at him. “I thought so too.”

After she gave Feral a kiss on the head – deftly avoiding nubby little horns – with a promise to teach him how to paint trees tomorrow, Maul collected his little brother, who was staring at the rancor with giant eyes, and took him back to Savage’s quarters.

--

--

“Your new friend is– fearsome,” Vokara Che said, looking at the stuffed rancor with lekku twitching slightly at the tips.  From what Maul knew of twi’leks, that meant silent laughter.  “I have just the thing, though.”

Maul figured that she would; he probably should have gone to the healer first, but he didn’t regret going to Savage ahead of her.  Nor did he think she would be offended.  He nodded back, stuffing the rancor under his arm, waiting while she moved off.

She came back with a bag of incense, a jar of something that looked like herbs suspended in honey and a bag of tea, handing them all over. “Qui-Gon doubtless has every blend imaginable, but this is already balanced to help soothe the chest and head.”

Maul managed to arrange his haul, then gave her a polite, low bow. “Thank you, Master Jedi.”

Vokara Che smiled at that, eyes soft. “My pleasure, Maul.”

--

--

Obi-Wan stared at the stuffed rancor, bleary-eyed.  His nose was red and his eyes were watery, and he already had a blanket wrapped around himself.  “–What is that?” he asked, voice still rather nasal sounding.

“Your new friend,” Maul answered, setting the rancor on the couch with him, feeling altogether kind of proud of himself right now. “Issa tells me his name is Bloodfang Killgore and that he will slay your cold.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes became saucers.  “Bloodfang–”

Maul was chewing like heck on his lip, but then finally couldn’t contain it and just started laughing, harder than he could ever remember laughing in his life, until he was almost melting to the floor under the force of it.  He wasn’t even sure why that was so funny, but when he started to get it under control, his face hurt and his ribs hurt and he wiped his eyes, still giggling.

When he looked back up, Obi-Wan’s expression was so– soft and open and warm, despite the cold, that it was almost enough to make Maul stop giggling.

“I think I’m starting to feel better already,” the Padawan said; even sick, he looked somehow quite happy.

“I’ll still make the tea, and Savage will bring the broth later,” Maul said, and he had no idea how to– to quantify what he was feeling.  Like light and brightness, like an ache, but no pain.

He fidgeted for a moment, wings bristling slightly, then bit his bottom lip and stepped over with far more confidence than he felt, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s warm, damp forehead before all but bolting to the kitchen.

He made that tea with shaking hands, breathless and alive.

#maul #kenobi #issa #savage #feral #vokara che #taking flight #omg i am so sorry for the astounding amount of fluff this is #long post for ts #shadowmaat